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“Parents in search of the best reading for their children will 
not hesitate to select these." — Boston Times. 

THE CHILHOWEE SERIES. 

By SARAH E. MORRISON. 

ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK T. MERRILL. 


“pHREE of the best books for Young People that have ever 
been published. Every genuine American cannot help 
feeling proud of the fact that they chronicle real events and 
present things as they were at the beginning of this wonderful 
century. 

CHILHOWEE BOYS 12mo, $1.25 

CHILHOWEE BOYS IN WAR TIME, 12mo, 1.25 

CHILHOWEE BOYS AT COLLEGE, l2mo, 1.25 

CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS, l2mo, 1.25 


For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid upon receipt 
of price by the publishers, 

THOMAS Y. CROWELL &. COMPANY, 

NEW YORK AND BOSTON. 





ALAN HAD THE EYE AND HAND OF A SURGEON 



CHILHOWEE BOYS 


IN 

HARNESS 


SARAH E. MORRISON 


AUTHOR OF “ CHILHOWEE BOYS,” “ CHILHOWEE BOYS IN WAR TIME,” AND 
“ CHILHOWEE BOYS AT COLLEGE” 


New York : 46 East 14TH Street 


THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY 


Boston: ioo Purchase Street 


M2ii-S 





Copyright, 1898 , 

By Thomas Y. Crowell & Company. 



TIVO COPIES RECEIVED. 

'-V^'5=b o 

Typography by C. J. Peters <fe So^% Boston. 


Pkesswork by S. J. Parkhill & Co. 





2nci V , 

I8a8. 


PEEFACE. 


^^Chilhowee Boys in Harness’’ completes the 
Chilhowee story. In it is told how the boys put on 
their armor, and how they fought and suffered and 
conquered in the battle of life. Each one, in so far 
as he adopted Don’s early and life-long motto, Per- 
severando,” was successful in the struggle. 

The honors and joys that fell to their lot were 
well earned ; and the success of his boys ” was spe- 
cially gratifying to Parson Craig, to whose efforts it 
was greatly due. He was rewarded by their love 
and esteem. 

Though it was the fate of some of them to live far 
distant from their early home, it was their delight to 
visit Chilhowee, — the old stamping-ground,” they 
called it, — and there together to recount the exploits 
and perils of their boyhood, and to view again the 
bright, beautiful scenes of which nature is so lavish 
in that favored region. 


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V. >• ■-' i ( • . ^ ■■ W Miil P '*1B 







CONTENTS 


CHAPTER - PAGE 

I. An Embryo Doctor 1 

II. Alan’s Great Predicament 16 

III. The Double Wedding 28 

lY. Alan hangs out IIis Shingle .... 42 

Y. Alan’s Home Practice 54 

YI. A Discontented Craig 65 

YII. Camping with the Boatmen 78 

YIII. Alone in the Wilds 01 

IX. Sunday with the Indians 104 

X. Xew Ways in Chilhoavee 114 

XI. Pretty Nettie 128 

XII. The Parson taken by Surprise . . .^ . 142 

XIII. Mrs. Baird’s Desperate Resolve . . . 155 
XIY. Mrs. Baird in a Stage-Coach .... 167 

XY. Stage-Coach Stories 177 

XYI. Thad’s Peril 100 

XYII. Miss Had ass ah’s Yisit 206 

XYIII. Don’s Neav World 230 

XIX. Don at Leighton Hall 245 


V 


VI 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XX. Colonel Fletcher’s Camp 262 

XXI. The Blacksmith to the Indians . . . 282 

XXII. Home from Virginia 295 

XXIII. Don’s Call to Bellevue 307 

XXIY. Powell’s Valley 322 

XXV. A Great Catastrophe 337 

XXVI. Alan’s Hard-won Victory 354 

XXVII. “Little Massa” 368 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


CHAPTEK 1. 

AN EMBRYO DOCTOR. 

Halloo the house ! ” shouted Dr. Thompson as 
he rode up to his gate. At the call a negro boy came 
running. 

Where ’s Mr. Baird ? ” asked the doctor. 

Dunno, sah. Gone fishiid, prob’ly, sah.’’ 

^^That ’ll never do. I want him in a big hurry. 
Has he got off ? ” 

Yes, sah ; bey on’ de orchard, anyway. Him an’ 
Miss Nettie ’ll stop dar to try de new bow an’ arrers 
while Sol digs some bait.” 

Everybody ’s keen for play when I ’m not here 
to keep things going ; hey, Pete ? You ’d have been 
loafing with Sol if I ’d stayed away any longer. 
Now run after Mr. Baird as fast as you can trot. 
Tell him I must see him in the office at once. Sad- 
dle up for him as soon as you get back.” 

1 


2 


CniLIlOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


Yes, sah/’ 

Dr. Thompson, leaving his horse beside the porch, 
entered his office, and began to rummage among the 
jars of medicine. 

Black Pete found his young mistress and Alan 
Baird still at their archery, so engrossed as to be 
forgetful of their fishing- project, though the pail 
with bait stood waiting for them. They had kept 
Sol to run for the arrows. 

Miss Nettie, massa ’s done arrove ! ” gasped 
breathless Pete. ‘‘ He sont me runnin’ fer Dr. Baird. 
He got some w’-uk fer him immejut.” 

“ Oh, that ’s too bad, Pete ! What ’s brought pa 
home this time of day ? ’’ 

“Dunno, miss. Sompin’ onlucky, I ’low. He ’s 
in a pow’ful takin’. I know’d it by de way he come 
tearin’ up de lane.” 

What ’s that, Pete ? Doctor wants me ? ” asked 
Alan, who had been to a distance to reclaim his 
arrow. 

Yes, sah ; he ’s after you in a gallopin’ hurry. 
I mus’ saddle you’ hoss in a jiff, while you git you’ 
orders.” 

That sounds as if there was no help for it. Miss 
Nettie. I shall have to give up my day’s pleasure, 
and knuckle down to work.” 


AN EMBRYO DOCTOR. 


3 


It ’s a great pity, Dr. Alan. Why, I have n’t 
had a chance to beat you even once. But of course 
when pa behaves this way the fun ’s gone. Sol, be 
sure to gather up all the arrows. Come, Tray,” to 
her dog ; we ’re going home.” 

Bring the fishing-poles and tackle up to the 
barn, Sol,” ordered Alan. 

An’ be quick about it too, Sol,” said Pete to his 
fellow slave. You ’ll ketch it fum massa if he 
don’t heah you at dat wood-choppin’ when he gits 
time ter listen.” 

When Alan at last stood before Dr. Thompson, 
the impatience of the latter was so manifest that he 
at once assumed an air of serious-minded ness. 

Anything gone wrong. Doctor ? ” 

I don’t think you need ask, Baird. See the 
names on the slate since you left the office.” 

Ike Turner and Jack Boyd ? Oh, well now, 
Pete knew where I was. I ’d have come if he ’d 
even whistled for me.” 

Isaac was after that Burgundy-pitch plaster for 
his mother. Is it ready ? ” 

Why, no ! I declare I forgot all about it. I ’ll 
spread it right away ; ” turning to a drawer in search 
of materials. 

Not so fast, sir. I need you for other work now. 


4 


CIIILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


But if you had made the plaster when I directed, 
Isaac would have found you in the office, and so 
would Jack Boyd.’’ 

It ’s no great miss about Jack. He came to 
have his tooth out, I reckon. He ’s been growling 
over it this long time. But like as not he would n’t 
have let me touch it, even after riding five miles on 
purpose. He ’s acted that way before. I never saw 
a bigger coward about teeth.” 

He did n ’t come about teeth this time. I sent 
him myself for important remedies which he failed 
to get because you were not to be found.” 

What ’s the matter at Farmer Boyd’s ? ” asked 
Alan, beginning to be interested. 

Mr. Boyd met with a very serious accident this 
morning at his log-rolling, — got a broken leg and 
a dislocated shoulder. It was as much as the men 
could do to get him home. I met one of them 
riding for me post-haste. I’ve been at the house 
ever since.” 

It gave you plenty to do,” said Alan, pleased 
and roused at the thought of a thrilling occurrence. 

Yes, sir ; and I was badly hindered for lack of 
those things I sent for. I could n’t get them, it 
seems’, because you were off strolling with Miss 
Nettie. A fine way to tend my office. But your 


AN EMBRYO DOCTOR. 


5 


playtime ’s done for to-day. I must send you right 
off to Farmer Boyd’s with these remedies which I 
have prepared. Where are your saddle-bags ? There, 
pack these things in and ride at once.” 

Alan filled the bags, while Dr. Thompson gave 
him minute directions as to the care of the in- 
jured man. 

The farmer is suffering severely ; this laudanum 
is to relieve him when the pain is intolerable. Guard 
the vial carefully, Baird, and mind, it ’s only for 
external use.” 

Certainly, sir.” 

“ It will be best to stay with the patient till I 
get round again. He needs considerable attention; 
and Mrs. Boyd ’s tired out, and frightened into the 
bargain.” 

When shall I look for you ? ” 

That I can’t say. I have n’t seen any of my 
important cases yet to-day on account of this un- 
expected hindrance.” 

Then the doctor flung himself on his horse, and 
started again on his laborious rounds ; while Alan 
cantered off on Hawkeye, not giving much thought 
to the task before him, but looking right and left 
at Dr. Thompson’s broad fields, and cogitating, — 

If I can only bear with the old fellow long 


6 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


enough, I We got a chance to own some of this fine 
property, and Miss Nettie into the bargain. Then 
would n’t I get ahead of Ken ! I ’d be master of 
a Avhole posse of niggers, and he ’ll never own one. 
I could snap my fingers then at Dr. Kenneth Craig. 
It ’s just too bad the way old Thompson makes 
me poke along for that certificate. He ’ll wait till 
Doomsday before he gives me a right to call myself 
Dr. Baird. I reckon that ’s because he ’s afraid I ’d 
set up a rival establishment right off, and he ’d lose 
my services and his patients into the bargain. I 
certainly would n’t stand such treatment if I did n’t 
see a way to get even with him.” 

Alan’s ride carried him deep into the woods where 
game abounded. Here ’s a fine chance for hunting. 
I ’ll have to snatch time enough for a few shots. 
I don’t reckon Farmer Boyd ’s in as much need of 
attention as the doctor made out.” 

He had his hand on his gun, and was just turn- 
ing into a by-path when he caught a glimpse of 
Dr. Thompson hurrying over a cross-road. He ’s 
a regular spoil-sport. I ’ll have to wait till he ’s 
farther off. Hurry up, Hawkeye, we ’re going to 
see sick folks.” 

Once at the farmer’s bedside, Alan was a model 
of attention. He knew how to do his work well f he 


AN EMBRYO DOCTOR. 


7 


had a skilful touch and a reassuring manner. Tired 
Mrs. Boyd was glad to leave her husband to his care, 
and seek a much-needed rest. 

Alan would not acknowledge even to himself that 
his main motive in trying to make his patient com- 
fortable was that he might the sooner leave him to 
seek his own pleasure ; but he watched the waning 
light, and cast impatient glances at his gun. 
reckon I T1 find 1 was cut out for a hunter by the 
time I make my fortune at doctoring,” thought he. 

At length the sufferer seemed to sleep ; and Alan 
seized the opportunity to leave the room, gun in 
hand. It ’s somebody else’s turn to sit here now.” 

He found the farmer’s half-grown daughter on the 
porch, with her baby sister in her arms. 

‘‘Suppose you have an eye to your father for a 
while, Matty. He ’s asleep, and won’t need any- 
thing but just to have somebody sit in the room.” 

“ I ’m afraid sissy ’ll wake him up. Dr. Baird, if 
I take her in there ; she ’s so fractious. Ma said I 
was to keep her out of pa’s bearin’, an’ hers too ; 
so ’s she could get a nap before it ’s time to cook 
supper for the hands.” 

“ Then, where ’s Jack ? Tell him to go sit with 
his father while I get a breath of fresh air.” 

“ Jack ’s hidin’ in the woodshed with a ragin’ 


8 


CniLIlOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


toothache. That five-mile ride to the doctor’s and 
back again in the wind just done him up. He ’s 
been groanin’ that loud all the afternoon ma said he 
dare n’t go a-nigh pa.” 

“ Why did n’t you tell me before ? I could have 
cured him in no time.” 

“ That ’s why he ’s hidin’. He says he ain’t goin’ 
to let you nor no doctor jerk his tooth out.” 

Then he ’s a big dunce.” 

Alan strode off in search of Jack, whom he found 
sitting on the sawbuck as miserable as could be with 
toothache, and as determined as any boy of ten ever 
was not to part with the cause of his trouble. The 
mere sight of some one capable of extracting his 
tooth terrified him. 

You sha’n’t pull it out. Dr. Baird, no, you sha’n’t ! ” 
screamed Jack, rushing from the woodshed, and put- 
ting a safe distance between himself and Alan. 

^‘1 don’t believe you ’ve got any toothache. Jack.” 

^^Yes, indeed I have. It ’s jumpin’ an’ thumpin’ 
fit to split my head open.” 

Then you ought to have it out this very minute ; 
here ’s your poor father dreadfully hurt, and you not 
doing a thing for him just because you ’ve got a 
toothache.” 

I did do somethin’ ! I rode five mile to git 


AN EMBRYO DOCTOR. 


9 


medicine for pa, an’ you was n’t there to give it to 
me ! I ’d ’a’ been glad to git my tooth out then ; 
ridin’ so fast in the wind set it achin’ like all thun- 
der; but I ain’t a-goin’ to let you pull it now, no, 
I ain’t, Dr. Baird.” The boy retreated still farther, 
and looked defiance at Alan. 

You need n’t run off, you dunce ; I ’m not going 
to touch your tooth. I could n’t pull it if you 
wanted me to ever so much, for I have n’t got any 
forceps here.” 

Alan regretted the omission. “ Those forceps are 
the very things I ought to have put into my saddle- 
bags, then I ’d have had Jack’s tooth out whether 
or no. Now, how am I ever to get a chance to go 
off on that hunt ? ” Suddenly he remembered the 
laudanum bottle in his pocket. 

Come here. Jack; come right here,” he called 
authoritatively. I ’ve got the stuff that ’ll cure 
your tooth.” 

don’t want no med’cine,” said Jack, looking 
askance at the dark liquid. 

Oh, it ’s not going to hurt you ; and that tooth ’s 
got to quit aching so you can take care of your 
pa while I get a little rest. Here, where ’s some- 
thing to pour the stuff into ? This will do.” 

Alan seized a tin cup which hung on the woodshed 


10 


CniLUOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS, 


door and poured some laudanum into it. Come 
along. Jack ; no need to stand there scowling wh§n 
you ’ll be well in a minute. Just take this stuff, and 
rub it around that bad tooth — then go right off to 
your pa. You ought to be there now.” 

Alan had left Hawkeye tied to the hitching-post 
instead of putting him in the stable, so determined 
was he to have his hunt. Now he ran towards his 
horse as he spoke, every step carrying him farther 
from Jack, who consequently heard nothiug dis- 
tinctly after “ Just take this stuff.” 

The boy won’t dare disobey me,” thought Alan, 
’m the same as Dr. Thompson to him, and to lots 
of folks round here. It ’s only because he ’s such 
a crabbed old fellow that he does n’t give me a right 
to my title. It makes him jealous to hear so many 
people call me ^Doctor;’ I can see that.” 

Alan plunged into the forest, and soon gave him- 
self up to the delights of his wild ride. He only 
regretted that it was so late in the day that he could 
not go far enough to satisfy himself. At any rate, 
I ’ll take back some birds for supper.” 

It was dusk when he returned to the farmhouse 
with his coveted birds. He saw lights in the win- 
dows. I ’m glad to see things look lively,” thought 
he. I hope Mrs. Boyd’s supper ’s ready. I ’ll 


AN EMBRYO DOCTOR. 


11 


not ask her to broil these birds till breakfast. I hn 
hungry enough to eat anything now. This ride has 
made my appetite very sharp-set.’’ 

He was about to hitch his horse till Jack could 
stable him, when he saw another horse at the hitch- 
ing-post which even in the dimness he knew to be 
Dr. Thompson’s. 

Whew ! that ’s more than I expected. I was n’t 
looking for the old chap before morning. Following 
me up, is he ? to watch me and my work. I don’t 
like that. Come, Hawkeye, we ’ll go round to the 
stable ; the doctor will have an idea then that I ’ve 
only been out for a few minutes’ walk to freshen 
myself up for a hard night’s duties.” 

But his arrival had been noticed. He had no 
chance to turn from the gate ; for several voices 
announced, Here ’s Dr. Baird ; he ’s come. Dr. 
Thompson.” 

What in the world does this mean ? ” thought 
Alan, as he dismounted and ran up the path. 

At the door a strange scene confronted him. Dr. 
Thompson and one of the farm-hands stood there, 
supporting little Jack Boyd between them. The boy 
was a ghastly object, his face livid, his body limp 
and helpless. Mrs. Boyd, holding a flickering can- 
dle, looked at her son and sobbed, while IVIatty, the 


12 


CIIILUOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


baby still in her arms, turned from the sight, crying 
bitterly. 

What ’s all this ! ” exclaimed Alan. What ’s 
happened ? ” 

Do you need to ask, Baird ? ” said the doctor 
sharply. “ You h*e the one, sir, to explain this boy’s 
condition. Where ’s that laudanum bottle ? How 
did you come to give Jack a dose of the poison ?” 

‘^Why I — I did n’t — I never thought of such 
a thing ! ” Alan produced the tell-tale bottle with 
evident reluctance ; it was almost empty. 

Jack said you told him to take it. Dr. Baird,” 
asserted Matty ; and so he drank it right up, before 
anybody got a chance to see what was in the tin 
cup. And then he began to cry out loud ; he said 
his throat felt as if it was on fire; it was worse 
than toothache.” 

“ The poor child waked me with his crying,” said 
the mother, trying to control her sobs that her sick 
husband might not hear ; “ and then, before I could 
fairly find out what ailed him, he fell into a stupor, 
and there was no rousing him, but I knew it was 
laudanum, for I smelled it in the cup.” 

‘‘ Did you let the boy get hold of the bottle, 
Baird ? ” asked the doctor. 

Why, no ; and I only poured out the smallest 


AN EMBRYO DOCTOR, 


13 


quantity for him to rub his gum with ; oh, just the 
least little bit/’ 

“ Jack’s condition indicates that the dose he has 
taken was by no means small.” 

0 Dr. Thompson ! how will he ever get over 
it ? ” said the anxious mother. “ He looks like death 
now. 0 Jack ! Jack ! ” 

Don’t be alarmed, Mrs. Boyd. This fresh air 
is beginning to have its effect; I ’ll keep him out- 
doors a while. Here, Baird, take hold of this other 
arm, and let Jonas have a chance for his supper. 
Come on, now ; we must give the boy as vigorous 
exercise as possible while this stupor lasts.” 

Alan had a task not at all to his liking. He 
helped to carry the unconscious boy across the porch 
and down the steps. 

There, set him on his feet,” said the doctor. 
‘^We must make him walk.” 

The poor child’s helplessness was so evident that 
Alan said, I don’t see how there ’s any walking to 
be got out of Jack.” 

‘‘ You don’t ! Well, sir, it ’s our only hope; I ’ve 
been working with him ; tried everything. It ’s a 
bad lookout for you. If the boy dies from this 
laudanum, it won’t be hard to know who is respon- 
sible.” 


14 


CIIILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


Alan sluiddered. He could not help seeing how 
he was involved. 

Here, put your Avits to Avork, and find some 
Avay to keep the child’s legs in motion. Poor lad, 
he no longer feels toothache or any other pain. 
This state is critical.” 

The doctor’s anxiety alarmed Alan. ‘‘ He has no 
time nor breath to scold,” thought he. “1 ’d sooner 
he ’d blare out at me than act this way.” 

‘‘We must get off this wet grass,” said the doc- 
tor presently. “ I had no idea the deAV had fallen 
so heavily. The lane will be drier Avalking.” 

As they dragged their charge through the gateway 
they passed quite close to Hawkeye, standing beside 
the fence, the bnnch of birds at his saddle-bow. 

Even in the dim light the doctor’s keen eye saAv 
the tell-tale feathers. “ Ah, Baird, here is your 
trophy for Avhich you risked the life of a fellow- 
being. Those birds Avould be bitter morsels to me 
if I had the eating of them.” 

Then they began their Aveary tramp up and down 
Farmer Boyd’s lane. 

“ I took that ride to brighten me up for my 
night’s work. Dr. Thompson,” said Alan defensively. 

“ I. trust it Avill have the desired effect, for you 
have tough work before you.” 


AN EMBRYO DOCTOR. 


15 


The doctor spoke in his driest tone. Alan knew 
he could not deceive him. You Ve doubled and 
trebled your task by going off pleasure-seeking. 
Why, Baird, if I had n’t got here just when I did, 
the boy would have been a corpse. Then you ’d 
have had something to cure you of your thought- 
lessness. And there ’s the poor father so excited 
and distressed that he is in danger of fever on top 
of his accident ; there ’d be a critical case.” 

For once Alan was speechless. He saw no way 
of justifying himself. 

Presently Jonas came hurrying towards them. 

Has he come to yet, Doctor ? Mrs. Boyd wants 
to know. His father ’s raving about Jack; there ’s 
no gettin’ him to hold still. He says he can’t lie 
abed while his boy ’s dying.” 

An only son ! Here, Jonas, take my place ; I 
must go to the poor man; quiet is as necessary for 
him as exercise is for the boy. Baird, don’t let 
the walking lag ; the responsibility is with you.” 


16 


CIIILIIOWEE BOYS IN U ABN ESS. 


CHAPTER IT. 

Alan’s great predicament. 

That was a dreary night to Alan. Jonas was not 
inclined to talk. The tramping of their feet broke 
the stillness. At times came the tinkle of a bell, 
showing that a cow or sheep was stirring ; an owl 
hooted, and a night-hawk flapped its wdngs over the 
heads of the walkers. The howls of wolves were 
heard; then the farmer’s hounds, asleep under the 
barn, roused up and ran into the forest, baying till 
the air resounded. 

Would n’t I just like to be as free as those 
dogs ! ” thought Alan. Bah ! what kind of a 
scrape am I in now'? ” 

Ho sound roused the boy, who hung on his sup- 
porters like a leaden weight. 

Is n’t Jack ever goin’ to wake up ? ” said Jonas 
at last. 

I don’t think you ’re doing much to help him. 
You ’re half asleep yourself ; I ’m dragging you 
both.” 


ALAN'S GREAT PREDICAMENT. 


17 


That ’s a fact ; and the doctor said we must keep 
up a brisk trot. I ’m dead tired, you see. I could 
sleep on my feet easier than not. We ^"e had a tre- 
mendous day’s work. Log-rollin ’s enough in itself, 
but there was Mr. Boyd’s terrible accident ; that 
heaped trouble on everybody, an’ now here ’s a worse 
endin’ to a bad day. Troubles never come single.” 

Could n’t any one else come out to help ? ” 
Alan was anxious for his supper. 

^‘Not without you could wake Dan’l. He said to 
call him ; he ’s lyin’ on the kitchen settle a-pur- 
pose to be handy, but he ’s sleepin’ as sound as Jack. 
1 ’low nothin’ ’ll wake him ’fore sunup, ’less it ’s a 
house a fire.” 

Alan began to feel hopeless, desperate indeed. 
When would the boy wake ? If he never woke, what 
would be the fate of this ambitious young medical 
student, who had long felt himself ill-used because 
Dr. Thompson delayed giving him his certificate of 
qualification ? 

He ’s never going to give it to me after this ; 
he ’ll make it an excuse. Well,*I reckon I ’ll be in a 
pickle if things don’t come right with Jack. Farmer 
Boyd ’s a man of influence ; his friends ’ll know how 
to make it hot for me. Well, I can run ; home won’t 
be the place, though. I reckon I ’d have to leave the 


18 


CniLUOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


State, or hide among the Indians — follow Mr. Philip 
Gordon into exile ! ” 

Alan became so absorbed in the contemplation of 
his dark prospects that he forgot his charge, and 
was only aware of his neglect of duty on hearing the 
doctor’s voice at his elbow. 

Why, Baird, you ’re not giving this poor child 
exercise worth counting. It ’s not possible I ’ve 
caught you napping ? and you too, Jonas ? ” 

‘‘ I declare,” said Jonas, ‘‘ I can’t hold out much 
longer. Doctor.” 

“ Nor I,” said Alan. “ I ’ve done all this walk- 
ing without any supper. Dr. Thompson.” 

^‘Well, run up to the house for a bite, and send 
Dan’l to take Jonas’s place.” 

The man asleep beside the smouldering kitchen 
fire was roused by Alan’s, Halloo, Dan’l, where ’ll 
I find supper ? ” 

What ’s that ? Doctor wants me ? Jonas ? 
How ’s the boy ? ” 

‘‘ He ’s getting on. Yes, Dr. Thompson wants 
you. Where ’s supper, I say ? ” 

“ What there is, is on the table, so I heard Mrs. 
Boyd say. There ain’t no cookin’ been done since 
breakfast. Them two big accidents come in the 
place of dinner and supper.” 


ALAN'S GREAT PREDICAMENT. 19 

The doctor ’s in the lane.’’ 

Dan’l hurried away, while Alan tried to coax the 
fire into a blaze. Short commons, I must say.” 
The flickering light revealed the table spread wuth 
bread and cheese, a dish of butter, and a pitcher of 
milk. I thought at a log-rolling there was always 
good fare and plenty of it. I wonder Mrs. Boyd 
didn’t manage better.” 

But Alan was hungry enough to enjoy his repast, 
however plain ; and was still lingering when Jonas 
appeared with a summons from the doctor. 

Dr. Thompson says he ’ll have to leave Jack 
with you as quick as you can get there. He ’s in 
a hurry to get back to the farmer.” 

Jonas stretched himself on the settle, and fell 
asleep at once. 

Alan looked at him enviously and thought, The 
doctor gives quarter to everybody but me. He or- 
ders me about and keeps me on the trot as if I was 
no better than a slave. I ’m surprised to see myself 
submitting.” 

The doctor was still working with poor Jack, but 
he spoke hopefully when Alan appeared. 

^^The boy’s condition is verging on the normal. 
After you and Dan’l have dragged him about a while 
longer he ’ll be fit to be put to bed.” 


20 


CIIILUOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


Alan was glad to see some limit to his task, but 
he was too tired and out of humor to feel thankful 
for deliverance from a great disaster. 

In the early dawn the doctor sent him home. 

Get what rest you can, Baird, I ’ll try to be home 
by breakfast-time.” 

Breakfast ! ha ! I want my night’s sleep first.” 

I don’t think that boy is cut out for a doctor,” 
thought his preceptor as Alan rode away. What 
a night he made for us, and through it all think- 
ing only of himself.” 

Alan, cantering down the lane, seized the birds 
which had brought such disaster, and threw them 
far from him into a thicket. 

A wolf or panther may relish them more than 
I,” he said with a bitter laugh. 

For the next few days Alan practically had holi- 
day, though Dr. Thompson was busier than usual, 
and evidently harassed. 

You ’ve done yourself mischief, Baird,” said 
he when he had time to discuss the matter. ^‘The 
lad is recovering, well for you ; but your careless- 
ness, which came so near murder, has made a bad 
impression in the neighborhood. It ’s doubtful if 
you can live it down. For the present you can be 
no help to me except maybe in office-work.” 


ALAN^S GBEAT PREDICAMENT. 


21 


“ I don’t see why I should be blamed so much 
for just a mistake, when things are coming all 
right too,” protested Alan, who trembled for his 
certificate. 

Parents and friends have a right to think dif- 
ferently, sir. Common people are justly afraid of 
the laudanum bottle. But you need n’t be idle. 
You can straighten out the day-books ; fetch them 
here till I show you which accounts are ready to 
be reckoned.” 

The doctor, busy filling his saddle-bags, glanced at 
the individual accounts as Alan turned the leaves. 

It ’s a large practice, and increasing. It ’s a shame, 
Baird, that you ’ve not proved yourself worthy to 
share it, as I at one time hoped. Let ’s have your 
book ; you ’ll have to incorporate some items from 
it into these bills.” 

Alan brought his day-book unwillingly ; his way 
of keeping it never satisfied his preceptor. 

What have you against Derrick Smith ? Here, 
I see : — 

To an oz. paregoric for his mother-in-law, $0.12^ 

To vial of liive sirup, etc., .37i 

To watch-key and ribbon, .25 

What ’s that ? Oh, for yourself ! How often 
have I told you to keep a separate book for your 


00 


CIIILIIOWEE BOYS IN II ABN ESS. 


personal accounts ? Now show me what you have 
against Tobias Mason : — 

To a bottle of opodeldoc, $0.25 

To extracting a bean from T. Mason’s wife’s 
sister’s nose — 

^^Oh, little Jane Coxe ; why did n’t you say so? 
You waste words. 

To call and doing nothing. 

Baird, never make such an entry as that ! 
When will you learn to express yourself profes- 
sionally ? 

To a riding-whip, $0.43| 

Your own affairs again ! There, I can’t waste 
my time this way ! Get your book straight first 
thing. After you ’ve done what you can with the 
accounts, make some ointments ; these jars are all 
but empty.” 

Alan did not like office-work. Now that he was 
discouraged he did not know how to persuade him- 
self to begin his tasks. After the doctor left him 
he sat looking at the intricate records, and wishing 
he had any other work before him.” 

Dr. Thompson need n’t complain of my ac- 
counts ; his books are complete puzzles, and no better 


ALAN'S GREAT PREDICAMENT. 


23 


kept. !N‘o use trying to study tliem out unless he ’s 
at my elbow for a key. I reckon I hn about done 
making his bills, anyhow. What ’s the use of stay- 
ing if he won’t let me help in the practice ? I wish 
Ken’s wedding-day was nearer. I wish I had n’t 
more than time to get to Chilhowee by starting to- 
day. I ’d just like to go it with a rush, and leave 
old Thompson in the lurch. Pshaw ! where ’ll be 
the fun without my certificate ; there ’ll be such a 
lot of M. D.’s, and I ’ll be a nobody among them. 
I was sure I ’d have' it to take home. Why I ’m 
under the thumb of a regular curmudgeon. He 
spoke of murder to me, when he knows I was the 
one that worked the hardest to bring Jack round. 
I ’ d like to have some credit for that. And it was 
the simplest kind of a mishap; all the boy’s own 
fault too, because he was so self-willed that he 
would n’t come near enough to hear all I said. I 
just wish I did n’t have to do another stroke of work 
here ; but I reckon I ’d better make some ointments 
since I ’m in a hurry to worm that certificate out of 
the doctor.” 

Allan looked over the physician’s formulas. 
hate to make salves ; it ’s just like going to school 
again, to be learning rules for such things. AVhen 
I ’m my own master I ’ll let somebody else do such 


24 


CniLIlOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


work as tins. Next thing Dr. Thompson ’ll show 
me the empty pill-boxes, and set me to choking over 
aloes. I ’d ten times rather do the riding than the 
office-work.” 

He was still refreshing his memory on ointments 
when he saw Miss Nettie and Tray in the garden 
watching Sol trim the roses. Why can’t I set Sol 
at this tiresome work ? He can get the jars ready, 
anyhow f why, he can do everything with just a few 
hints ; he ’s smart for a darkey.” 

Soon Sol was making a pretence of work in the 
office, while Alan took his place in the garden, much 
to the satisfaction of the doctor’s daughter. 

‘‘You ’d better let me help you while I can. Miss 
Nettie, for I ’m soon going aw’^ay.” 

“To Dr. Craig’s wedding? I can imagine what 
a fine time you ’ll have. But you ’re coming back. 
Dr. Alan, you surely are.” 

“ I don’t know about that, after the way your 
father ’s treated me.” 

It was Alan’s custom to air his grievances to 
Nettie, who was a ready sympathizer. Now she 
said, — 

“I should think you ’d learn not to mind pa’s 
blustering; he always gets pleased again.” 

“ But this time he ’s extra fierce. What does he 


ALAN'S GREAT PREDICAMENT. 25 

mean by calling a fellow a murderer, or next thing 
to it, when he knows I did everything in the world 
to straighten out that mistake ? Why, Miss Nettie, 
he says I have n’t a friend here. I ’ll be better off 
in Chilhowee ; I ’ve got plenty there.” 

“And so you have here. How could you help it 
after being here so long ? Why, grandma takes 
your part, and Aunt Hadassah ; oh, I ’m sure they 
do. And I think you did splendidly, working so 
hard over Jack Boyd, and not complaining about 
it. I told pa so, too.” 

Sympathy put Alan in good spirits, and he was 
soon talking glibly of the coming event. Nettie 
was an interested listener. She had seen Kenneth 
Craig in Eastboro the year before ; and she felt ac- 
quainted not only with him, but with all Chilhowee, 
through Alan’s stories, with which he had enter- 
tained the family during his two years’ residence 
at Dr. Thompson’s. 

“I ’m going home to have a fine time, you may 
depend,” said he. “It ’ll be really a splendid affair; 
a double wedding, you know. Ken’s friend, Leigh 
Gordon, will marry Lucy Pratt, Margaret’s sister, 
at the same time. There was a day when I thought 
Lucy might be my bride.” 

“That ’s why you don’t like Mr. Leigh Gordon.” 


26 


CIIILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


^^No, indeed! What makes you think we ’re not 
friends ? ” 

^‘Ohj from the Avay you always look when you 
speak of him.” 

It ’s a pity I can’t like him, for he ’s a regu- 
lar gold mine.” 

“ A pity for you ; yes,” laughed Nettie. 

But it was n’t Lucy that did the mischief,” 
protested Alan ; “ you need n’t think it. That was 
only a schoolboy’s fancy. I know my mind better 
now.” 

“ One sister going to marry rich and the other 
poor ? ” 

Yes ; Ken ’s got nothing but his practice. But 
Margaret Pratt ’s just come into a legacy from her 
uncle ; so they can marry and have a magnificent 
wedding-journey — going to ride all the way to the 
East. Ken ’s to tend lectures there, and come back 
with his degree. To think of the way Ken Craig ’s 
getting ahead of me ! I ’ll tell you what would be 
the very best thing for me. Miss Nettie; why, to 
step right into his shoes — take his place at Willow- 
dale as Dr. Pratt’s partner.” 

Oh, and not come back here ! Why, Dr. Alan ? ” 

“Well, it would be just serving your father right. 
I ’d like to be able to snap my fingers at him, and 


ALAN'S GEE AT PEEDICAMENT. 27 

tell liiin he need n’t trouble himself to write that 
certificate.” 

Alan knew his words were a vain boast ; but it 
pleased him to see that he could tease Nettie, and 
served still to enliven him when he returned to the 
office to perform his distasteful task of ointment 
making, assisted by black Sol. 

When Alan at length rode away to attend the wed- 
dings at Chilhowee, the doctor said at parting, — 
Don’t take too long a holiday, Baird, if you care 
to have that certificate.” 

I can’t promise when I ’ll be back,” said Alan, 
riding rapidly away, and thinking, If I could only 
have got hold of that paper, I ’d have had courage to 
ask the doctor for Nettie ; then I could have gone 
back to Chilhowee with a flourish. Now where ’s 
any fun in this trip ? Ma and pa could n’t help 
being pleased with Nettie ; just seventeen and so 
pretty, and the only heir to all this property. I ’d 
be doing better than Ken, after all.” 


28 


CniLHOWEE BOYS IN H ABN ESS. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE DOUBLE WEDDING. 

Mrs. Pratt’s mountain home was a scene of 
pleasant excitement. It was the hour before the 
weddings. The guests had all arrived. 

Parson Craig and the two young bridegrooms 
strolled about under the trees in earnest conversa- 
tion. The parson felt that now he was truly part- 
ing with his son. After to-day Chilhowee Parsonage 
would no longer be home to Kenneth, even in his 
thoughts, as it had been in his college days, and 
during his medical studies, even in the past busy 
months as Dr. Pratt’s assistant at Willowdale. As 
the father looked back on the years of Kenneth's 
life since the memorable journey before the war, 
when together they entered Tennessee, he felt sat- 
isfied with his son’s efforts and achievements. 

Your holiday is well earned, Kenneth,” said he. 

To know that you and mother think so adds 
greatly to my happiness.” 

^‘The busy life is the one to be envied,” said 


THE DOUBLE WEDDING. 


29 


Leigh ; how much more the man whose father and 
mother are spared to praise him.” Leigh Gordon 
felt his losses keenly on his wedding day. Only 
Eleanor was left to bid him joy, while of Kenneth 
Craig’s family not one was missing. 

Those school-days long ago made you my boy, 
Leigh,” said the parson. ^‘Kow that you are marry- 
ing Margaret’s sister, the tie is stronger than ever.” 

Yes ; it is one of the brightest links in the 
happy chain. To have the right to call Kenneth 
brother, and to carry him and his bride home to 
Leighton Hall on their wedding journey, is a great 
delight.” 

Ko plan could be more agreeable to Margaret 
and me,” said Kenneth. How long I have looked 
forward to seeing Leighton ! ” 

“And little dreamed that there you would spend 
your honeymoon,” said the parson. 

“ I am only sorry that the visit will be so short,” 
said Leigh, “ that it is only a mile-stone as you 
hasten East to hard hospital work.” 

“ Oh ! I am looking forward to my new task with 
the keenest interest,” said the young physician. 
“ The knowledge that important duties await me 
will make the leisure days all the more enjoyable.” 
As the three strolled and talked, they could see 


30 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


at each turn pictures of busy life. On the hillside 
where the orchard stood all in bloom, friends were 
adorning the spot chosen for the ceremony. Young 
Donald Craig was directing the work. 

On the porch were grouped the three little flower- 
maids, to whose white attire Eleanor Gordon was 
adding touches of beauty with her skilful Angers. 

Is it a Virginia fashion to dress us in flowers. 
Miss Eleanor ? ” asked Phoebe Baird, looking ad- 
miringly at the transformation of herself and her 
companions. 

It ’s the prettiest fashion the world over,’’ 
laughed Eleanor. “There can’t be too many flow- 
ers at a wedding. Every girl has a right to look 
lovely then.” 

“We ought n’t to be finer than the brides,” said 
Alice Murray. 

“ Oh ! it ’s all to do honor to our brides. Here, 
Bessie, this wreath is for you. You ’re the small- 
est; I shall turn you into a veritable May queen.” 

“This is the beautiful way of a Christian people; 
I think that is it,” said Nacoochee, who had re- 
cently come to Chilhowee as Major Logan’s bride. 
“My major found flowers for me every day of the 
marriage moon ; they grew even in the cold and 
dark to please me, he said.” 


THE DOUBLE WEDDING. 


31 


can trust Cousin Kobert for seeing what is 
beautiful/’ said Eleanor. 

Yes ; my Major Eobert has wide-open eyes/’ 
agreed the happy young wife. ^^And now we have 
not to seek far; for this is the flower moon, and 
the world is full of blooms.” 

Yes, they are showered on us. Oh ! Chilhowee 
is a world of beauty.” Then Eleanor flitted away 
to help in the more important duty or pleasure of 
adorning the brides. 

Every one was pleased to permit the Virginia 
guest to be mistress of ceremonies that day. 

At length came the eventful moment. The wed- 
ding guests were grouped on the gently sloping 
hillside, where the turf was like velvet. The par- 
son stood in the midst of the decorations, under 
a great blooming apple-tree, from which pink and 
white petals showered down on him continually. 

They ’re prettier than snowflakes,” thought 
Bess, as she looked at her father, and saw the air 
filled with floating leaves, pink and white, from 
the many blooming trees. ^^Oh, what a beautiful, 
beautiful time a wedding is ! ” 

To ten-year-old Bess this was the grandest event 
of her life. She could have laughed from happi- 
ness, but she saw that the whole group was quiet 


32 


CRILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


as if spell-bound. The singing of birds could be 
plainly heard. Then came the sound of her father’s 
voice. Bess could almost imagine she was in 
church. 

A wedding was always a solemn event to Parson 
Craig, but all the listeners could hear the ring of 
joy in his voice as he said the words which made 
Kenneth and Margaret husband and wife. 

Kenneth’s marriage was first, as was fitting. He 
was the parson’s son, and his bride the elder of 
the two sisters. 

Happy hours are always short. All too soon for 
those who felt the parting, the great festival was 
over, and the bridal party hastening on their wed- 
ding journey. Many friends rode with them for 
the first stage, among them Donald Craig, return- 
ing to college. In his first leisure hour he wrote 
to his grandfather : — 

promised Ken that I would tell you all about 
our grand time at Chilhowee. I came back only 
yesterday from the double wedding. O grandpa, it 
was glorious ! The only pleasure we lacked was 
that you and grandma were n’t there. Every one 
else that Ken specially wanted was able to come. 
It was different with Leigh Gordon. His sister 
was his only relative there besides Major Logan ; 


THE DOUBLE WEDDING. 


33 


but since Eleanor came, of course mammy and Jubal 
did also, and Leigh was content. 

Jubal said, ’lowed I wuz leavin’ Chilhowee 
fer good ’n’ all, Marse Don, when massa an’ me 
put out fer college; but when a weddin’s on han’ 
massa mus’ hab me along, suten, an’ mammy too, 
fer to tote Miss Eleanor safe ober de mountings 
an’ to scorch her an’ de two brides home again to 
Leighton Hall. It ’s big wuk ; it ’s good it can’t 
come twicet.’ 

‘‘At last we have all seen Eleanor Gordon, and 
every one likes her. She is very beautiful. She 
is delighted with our valley and mountain. She 
went sight-seeing everywhere. Leigh has given her 
the deed of White Apple. She danced through the 
lodge and all around it, and said she would n’t 
want a more beautiful home ; and some day, when 
Leigh and Lucy can spare her from Leighton, she 
intends to live there. 

“When mammy heard that she said, ‘I b’longs 
to massa, thank de Lord; an’ he ’s promised me 
faithful, dat once git safe home ag’in he ain’t gwin- 
ter ax me ter climb no mo’ mountings.’ And Jubal 
said, ‘ If Miss Eleanor takes ter wanderin’, we can’t 
foller, we ’re ’bleeged ter stick by massa an’ Leigh- 
ton Hall.’ But Eleanor likes to travel. She says 


34 


CHILIIOWEE BOYS IJSF HARNESS. 


this journey was just a taste which makes her long 
for more. 

“ Ken wants me to say that you may certainly ex- 
pect a visit from him and Margaret after they leave 
Leighton. I used to think that I should be the first 
one of our boys to visit you and Leigh, but it turns 
out to be Ken. Well, he has eatned his holiday, 
and I ’m glad he has prospect of such a pleasant 
time. 

‘^All the travellers seemed to have merry hearts 
when the journey began. I rode with them the first 
day. Then we parted ; and I hurried on with Korton 
Collins, who had been one of our guests. He has a 
law-office in Eastboro. 

“ Dr. Temple was there too. He has taken Ken’s 
place with Dr. Pratt at Willowdale. We are glad to 
have him even as near a neighbor as that. 

“ Alan Baird went home on purpose for the wed- 
dings. Everybody calls him doctor; but he did n’t 
even show his certificate to his mother, so Thad ’s 
sure he has n’t got any. Alan says Dr. Thompson 
can’t do without him, so he ’s going back ; but he 
must first have a few days’ hunting with Miles 
Hardy, for he does n’t get much holiday at the 
doctor’s. 

Major Logan and Ahila rode a half day’s journey 


THE DOUBLE WEDDING. 


35 


with the wedding-party, and then went back to Chil- 
howee, because the major had left Nacoochee with 
only Mammy Judy. Hugh wrote to grandma, did n’t 
he, that Major Logan had married our beautiful 
Indian maiden ? The major built a house not very 
far from the parsonage ; and Nacoochee says now she 
has the desire of her heart, she can ride over to see 
mother whenever she wants to. Mother is very fond 
of her, and so is’ Eleanor Gordon. She calls her 
cousin ; the major is her cousin, you know. She says 
Nacoochee is well named, for she is beautiful as the 
evening star. 

Major Logan said it was well our travellers had a 
large and well-mounted party, so that they need n’t 
fear attacks from highwaymen nor wild beasts. Hed 
Pratt was returning to his law practice ; he is Leigh’s 
partner ; so there were eight going to Leighton, and 
and all of the men excellent shots. 

‘^Now that the wedding is over, Hugh expects to 
ride with father in a few days into the Indian coun- 
try to begin his work. I think our Hugh will make a 
grand preacher. Ahila goes with them. He has de- 
cided to become a missionary to his people.” 

Don had written rapidly, his sheet was nearly 
filled, and his candle burnt almost to its socket. He 
paused, his brow contracted ; he had written on 


36 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


pleasant themes, now thoughts came that troubled 
him. 

Shall I tell grandpa about John ? Will it do any 
good ? Why, certainly, he is wise about every- 
thing.’’ Then again Don’s pen went flying over the 
paper. 

It ’s a very strange thing to write about a Craig ; 
and grandma and you will be surprised, — perhaps 
nobody knows it but me, father maybe does n’t sus- 
pect it, — but John is angry and jealous because he 
thinks we three boys are going away from home to 
have flne times, and leaving him with all the respon- 
sibility of the farm. He does n’t remember that this 
is Ken’s first real holiday and a short one at that ; for 
he is going East to plunge into hospital work, and 
to read hard for his degree. You see, grandpa, we 
Chilhowee boys are really getting into harness. 

John didn’t seem to mind as long as Hugh was 
at home to superintend the farm. But he says now 
he hopes his turn will soon come to go travelling 
and see the world ; he ’s tired of being cooped up 
in Chilhowee Valley ; if he can’t do better he ’ll run 
off! He’s fifteen; father hoped he could go to col- 
lege in a year or two, but John wants to go where 
he can make money. I think it would do him good 
to get a letter from you; you’ll know just what to 


THE DOUBLE WEDDING. 


37 


write, and he is very proud when the post brings 
him anything. 

There ! my candle is at its last flicker ; it will 
hardly melt the sealing-wax.” 

Parson Craig knew something of the workings of 
John’s mind, though the boy did not speak as freely 
to his father as to Don. 

I ’m leaving you master here, my son,” said the 
parson as, one day soon after the weddings, he was 
about starting with Hugh on the journey of which 
Don had written. 

don’t want to be master,” said John, with an 
emphatic shake of his head. 

John!” cried Alec, ‘^you’ve often said that’s 
just what you did want.” 

^^But when everybody goes off, and I’m left with 
everything to do, it’s different.” 

Keep a brave heart, John,” said his father. 
“You’ll npt have more to do than usual. Your 
Uncle Will has promised to spare his man part of 
the time till I can make some better plan.” 

“It won’t be long before Don’s vacation,” said 
Hugh. “Then all will be straight enough.” 

“You ’re coming home before that, are n’t you, 
Hugh ? ” asked John. 

“If he does, he will likely go away again soon,” 


38 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


said their mother. ^‘We must spare Hugh for his 
life-work now.’’ 

wish I was twenty-one, and going away,” said 

John. 

^‘You’re big enough,” said Bessie. “You’ll be a 
giant when you’re twenty-one, I reckon.” 

“ John ’s a good protector for your mother and 
you, Bess. I’m glad to have such a strong son to 
leave in my place.” 

Presently Mr. Craig and Hugh rode away. 

■“There are two Parson Craigs now,” said Alec, 
as the cedar forest hid them. 

“And Hon will make three,” said Bessie. 

“ Oh ! not this long time.” 

“That’s not what I’m going to be,” said John, 
“nor a doctor like Ken, neither.” 

“You can’t be if you don’t go to college,” said 
Alec. 

“AYell, I ’m not going.” 

Mrs. Craig, who had returned to her spinning, heard 
the talk as she sat near the window at her wheel. 
She understood John, and felt sorry that his temper 
hindered him from being made happy by what pleased 
every one else. 

“ It ’s plain Ken’s good time has come,” said John 
one day, after reading a long letter addressed to him- 


THE DOUBLE WEDDING. 


39 


self. “ I don’t see how he finds time to write to 
anybody when there are so many dinners to attend 
and so much sight-seeing to do.” 

He knew you would n’t like it if he missed this 
mail when it was your turn to get a letter,” said 
Alec. 

’d just like to be in Ken’s shoes, seeing the 
world, instead of having to look after the stock and 
the crops every day.” 

^‘You ’d make a big jump,” laughed Alec, “the 
fourth son to take the place of the first. Ken’s 
shoes ’ll have a chance to get worn out. Hugh says 
Ken had a harder time when he was our age than 
we are having.” 

“ I don’t believe it. He had us to help him. Kow 
we ’re left in the lurch. I am, anyhow.” 

A letter from Parson Craig, saying that he had 
found an opening for Hugh, so that he expected to 
return alone, only served to increase John’s discon- 
tent. 

“ I ’m the one that ought to live among the Indi- 
ans, instead of Hugh,” thought he. “ Hugh can’t bear 
rough times, but I ’d enjoy wigwam life. I think 
I ’d like it even better than the fine ways at Leigh- 
ton.” 

These thoughts were still in John’s mind when one 


40 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


day he rode to the blacksmith^s to have one of the 
farm-horses shod. He liked to visit the smith’s 
shop; for Jacob Webster was apt to entertain him 
with tales of adventure, talking as he worked. 

“I ’d like to be a great traveller like you, Mr. 
Webster,” said John, after listening to an account 
of flat-boat life on the Mississippi. ‘‘ I ’ve never 
been any farther off than to Knoxville, all these 
years father ’s lived in Tennessee; and you ’ve gone 
twice all the way to New Orleans, have n’t you ? ” 

“ Yes ; and walked home both times through the 
Indian country with empty pockets ; no money to 
buy even the sorriest nag. You would n’t like such 
travelling.” 

I ’d like to see the world that way if I could n’t 
do any better.” 

“ The journeys were both big misfortunes to me, 
John, no pleasure in them. An empty pocket means 
a heavy heart, anyhow when a man has a family to 
support. I ’ve never got over the losses of those two 
ventures. It was venturing, there was my mistake. 
When a man starts out without knowing which he ’ll 
do, ^ make a spoon or spoil a horn,’ he ’s apt to fail. 
Your father ’s been a wiser man than I, and his sons 
are reaping the benefit.” 

John could not but notice the smith’s serious air. 


THE DOUBLE WEDDING. 


41 


and he knew Mr. Webster was a truthful man ; still, 
he was not convinced, but thought as he rode home : 

I ^m sure I could get some good out of such 
chances ; it would pay me just to see the sights, but 
I know I ’d make money some way.’’ 

The smith thought, when he remembered John’s 
face as he stood listening : “ That ’s the son that ’ll 

give Parson Craig trouble if any of his boys do. 
Pity, too ; I always did like that youngster, a stir- 
ring, go-ahead lad he is.” 

John’s ambition and energy made him do good 
work in spite of his discontent. He prized ap- 
proval ; he coveted his father’s Well done, my 
son.” 

Then came a long letter to him from Grandfather 
Craig, which delighted John. From the opening 
words, “ John, loved grandson,” to the last line, the 
signature, Your ever devoted and affectionate 
grandfather, Donald Craig,’ there was not a syllable 
which the boy was not proud to read to everybody, 
so skilfully had the wise old man worded his coun- 
sels. 

r And for a time John Craig’s unruly spirit was at 
rest. 


42 


CIIILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


CHAPTER IV. 

ALAN HANGS OUT HIS SHINGLE. 

“ Here ’s great news from Alan ! ” announced Mr. 
Baird, as he began to read a letter which Thad had 
just brought. 

Oh, then he ’s got his certificate ! ” cried Phoebe. 

He said he would n’t write again till Dr. Thompson 
gave it to him.” 

I ’m glad,” said Mrs. Baird. “ Poor boy, he 
was out of all patience about it.” 

“Well, he ’s fledged at last. And what ’s more, 
he ’s coming home to practise.” 

“ 0 pa ! ” lamented Mrs. Baird ; “ I ’m afraid that 
means the doctor ’s not satisfied.” 

“ It means that the old fellow knows Alan well 
enough to see he ’d make ducks and drakes of things 
if he allowed him to meddle much.” 

“ Do please read the letter, pa,” begged Phoebe. 
“ What does Alan say ? ” 

Oh ! he ’s very well pleased. He says ‘ Old T. ’s 
nothing but a riddle, but Nettie and I understand 


ALAN HANGS OUT HIS SHINGLE. 


43 


each other. He won’t agree to anything; tells me 
to go home, and forget her, anyhow till she ’s eigh- 
teen; but if I get a good practice — can prove it by 
my books — he ’ll maybe talk to me then. He 
thinks I ’m in for a big holiday, and the coast will 
be clear for Kettle’s other beaux. But that ’s a great 
mistake. Why, Kettle ’ll come into all her mother’s 
property when she ’s eighteen, — Sol, and I don’t 
know how many more niggers. I ’m bound not to 
lose such a streak of luck. It ’s pure jealousy in 
the doctor not to want me here ; he knows I ’d 
soon be more in demand than he, if he made me 
partner; a young doctor ’s sure to be popular. Well, 
I ’m lucky to have a chance to hang out my shingle 
in Chilhowee before Dr. Ken gets home. I intend 
to swoop up all the practice, and let him whistle. 
I wish I ’d known sooner how things were going 
to be settled, so that you could have had an office 
built and ready for me; but the doctor has only 
just now given me my certificate — my ^walking 
ticket,’ he seemed to regard it. You can expect 
me home any day. Hurrah for liberty ! ” 

Tears stood in Mrs. Baird’s eyes. The dear boy 
is glad to come home. I do hope he will be happy in 
spite of his disappointments.” 

Happy! there ’s no doubt of that,” said Mr. 


44 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS, 


Baird. Why, Alan ’ll feel like a king, monarch of 
all he surveys, when he gets home to settle. I don’t 
know how that ’ll suit us ; and I don’t see where his 
disappointments come in, anyhow.” 

“ Why, husband, you know he wanted to go East, 
like Kenneth. He said he ’d never get over it that 
he could n’t.” 

It might have been the making of him,” agreed 
Mr. Baird. Well, Alan ’s got himself to thank for 
his losses. He can never say we stood in his way. 
I ’m glad the doctor had sense enough to put him off 
about Miss Nettie. I reckon it ’ll turn out to be only 
a boy’s fancy.” 

I hope so,” said Mrs. Baird. 

Are you going to build him an office, pa ? ” asked 
Phoebe. 

I ’ll have to study on that, child. I always al- 
lowed if I did any more building, it would be a par- 
lor for you.” 

‘‘ Oh ! I wish you would, pa ; I’m tired of waiting. 
You ’ve promised it ever since Alice Murray’s father 
built hers.” 

• “ Well, well, Phoebe, I ’m expecting to some day ; 
but it ’s easier said than done. And here ’s Alan 
asking for an office in a big hurry, as cool about it 
as if he was only calling for his breakfast.” 


ALAN HANGS OUT IlIS SHINGLE. 


45 


Maybe if you built the office you could build 
Phoebe’s parlor at the same time,” suggested Mrs. 
Baird. 

‘‘ Why, that would be just double work. But we 
’ll see what Thad has to say on the subject.” 

No task was undertaken in the Baird household 
without consulting Thad. He listened to the news 
with pleased eagerness. Doc Alan ! cornin’ home 
all so fine, too ! I knowed dere wuz sumpin tip-top 
in dat letter, when I seed how tickled you-uns wuz.” 

‘‘Yes, we ’ll have lively times now,” said Mrs. 
Baird. 

“And hard work, too, Thad,” added Mr. Baird. 
“ Your young master must have an office built right 
away. We ’ll have to get help from the neighbors. 
I think, ma, I ’d better take the time to ride over 
to Willowdale, and get a look at Dr. Pratt’s office, 
then I ’ll know better what I ’m about. What do 
you say, Thad ? ” 

“ Could n’t do no harm, massa, but dat ’s a pow’- 
ful long ride. De folks all know Ole Saddle-bags’ 
place down to de settlement ; dey ’ll not go fur 
wrong.” 

“With that for a pattern! a tumble-down 
shanty ! ” protested Mrs. Baird. “ Dr. Alan will 
want something better than that.” 


46 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


Certainly he will/’ agreed Mr. Baird. I ’m 
glad I thought of that visit to Dr. Pratt. I ’ll go 
one of these fine days.” 

Thad, returning to his wood-cutting, shook his 
head and meditated. Jes like massa’s own self, 
goin’ about pleasurin’, an’ when ’ll dat orfis git 
built ? Little missy’s parlor ain’t had de fust stroke 
put to it yet, an’ her ’mos’ growed up. But Marse 
Alan ’s diftunt ; he ain’t got her patience, dere ain’t 
no wait in him. I ’low he ’ll git dat buildin’ if 
he wants it bad.” 

Alan followed his letter so quickly that his father 
had gone no farther than talk in his projected work. 
The delight of the whole family on seeing him was 
so apparent that the young doctor could not help 
being gratified. 

I knew it would just suit you, ma, to have me 
at home again,” he said. ‘‘ How ’s that office com- 
ing on, pa ? Waiting for a chance to see Dr. 
Pratt’s ! Pshaw ! there ’s no use in that ; I know 
well enough how I want mine built. I would n’t 
mind going over myself, of course, if Ken was still 
there ; but Temple ’s not my friend. I ’m glad he ’s 
no nearer than Willowdale. 

^^Have n’t you even called the neighbors to the 
log-rolling ? Now, ma, is n’t that too bad ? Phoebe, 


ALAN HANGS OUT HIS SHINGLE. 


47 


wliy did n’t you see that pa made a start? Here 
I ’ve brought home a great lot of drugs from East- 
boro, and now where shall I put them ? ” 

You must have been pretty sure of patients, to 
make you do that, Alan,” said his father. 

Of course I am. I intend to get up a big 
practice.” 

I don’t see why he should n’t, pa,” said Mrs. 
Baird, ^^at least as long as Ken ’s away.” 

‘‘Ken won’t hurt me when he gets back. Is n’t 
he going to settle in Mrs. Pratt’s old house ? If 
the valley people begin to come to me, they ’ll not 
climb that steep road afterwards to go to him.” 

“ It does look as if you had a chance,” agreed 
his father. “ Old Saddle-bags won’t be much in 
your way, I reckon; he gets so stiff with rheuma- 
tism every now and then that he can’t mount his 
horse.” 

“ He ought to give up in my favor. He must 
be in his dotage. He ’s been at the settlement ever 
since we came to Tennessee.” 

“ He set your broken bones when you came near 
dying in that terrible horse-race long ago, Alan,” said 
his mother. 

“ Oh ! when Whitefoot was killed ? ” said Phoebe. 
“ I can just remember it.” 


48 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


I was only a boy then ; 1 don’t want to remem- 
ber it.” 

But you ought n’t to forget that Dr. Smith saved 
your life,” said his father. I hope you ’ll treat him 
well, since you ’re a fellow physician.” 

I shall have to see about that office myself, pa, 
that’s plain. Hawkeye ’s tired out with the journey, 
he had as much as he could carry ; but if you ’ll lend 
.me your horse to-morrow, I ’ll ride round and invite 
the friends to help in a hurry. Dr. Thompson told 
me not to waste any time in starting my practice, 
and I ’m bound to keep on his right side.” 

The next day, as Alan was starting on his ride, he 
said, ^^Ma, I hope you ’ll begin to think about get- 
ting up a big dinner for the neighbors.” Then, 
seeing Thad within hearing, he added, “ They ’d be 
keen to come if they knew Thad was going to give 
them a barbecue. I ’ll go to Miles Hardy first ; 
he and his father will be capital helps.” 

Thad listened, and then turned to his work, smil- 
ing grimly as Alan rode away. “Dere ’ll be a 
chance to study on dat barbecue idee, if Marse Alan 
gits goin’ along with Miles; he ’s in fer playtime, 
sutenly; he ’ll disremember all about his orfis fer 
de time bein’.” 

Alan returned in the evening, bringing a quantity 


ALAN HANGS OUT HIS SHINGLE. 


49 


of fine game. “ Look, ma, at my luck ! ” he cried. 
“ You ’ll think it ’s worth while for me to be home 
if I keep you in birds for the table.” 

0 Alan ! it looks as if you ’d been hunting all 
day. I thought you ’d be too busy for that.” 

“ Why, ma, it ’s a new thing for you to mind my 
having a little pleasure. I ’ve had glorious sport. 
Miles and I — he ’d soon be a famous hunter if he ’d 
stick to it, instead of going off stage-driving. When 
I found how soon he was starting on his route I 
knew I could n’t do better than to hunt with him 
while I had the chance. I want to learn his ways, 
you see.” 

Miles Hardy is a mighty cunning hunter,” said 
Mr. Baird ; “ there ’s none better in Chilhowee.” 

When ’s the house-raising to be, Alan ? ” asked 
Phoebe. 

Oh ! soon enough. You don’t need to bother 
about it. ' If you ’d been working under old Thomp- 
son, you ’d want a holiday. Don’t you think so, pa ? 
I did n’t know what a slave I ’d been, but I saw the 
difference to-day. The Hardys all say that the best 
Avay to get the friends together is to have one or 
two big hunts. I ’ll meet everybody that way; and 
when they know I ’m home to stay, they ’ll get that 
office put up in no time.” 


50 


CniLTIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


Thad, carrying the game to the spring-house, 
spoke his thoughts aloud. Marse Alan ’s de same 
ole coon as ever. Doc Alan, is he ? I can’t hardly 
believe it. It don’t come handy to say. I ’low de 
timber fer dat orfis ’ll git a chance to grow a spell 
longer same as fer Missy’s parlor.” 

Mr. Baird’s view was : ^^ISTo harm to let the boy 
have his swing, now that there ’s no old curmudgeon 
to call him to account. I wonder he stood that 
kind of a life as long as he did.” 

But the way he ’s managing, he ’ll be apt to 
miss his first patient, and that would be ‘such a 
pity,” lamented Mrs. Baird. “ I ’d think that a 
real disaster.” 

You ’re just borrowing trouble, ma,” said Alan, 
who had been listening. My first patient ’s com- 
ing to-morrow, and I ’ll be on hand.” 

“ You ’re luckier than I thought,” said his father. 

Who is it ? ” 

‘^Mrs. Hardy, coming to have a tooth out.” 

0 Alan ! ” protested his mother, “ you know 
how I hate such things. Why did n’t you pull it 
while you were there ? ” 

Could n’t, ma ; had n’t any forceps along. I’d 
have been glad enough to do it, for it ’s just double 
the fee at the house. But Miles is coming over to 


ALAN HANGS OUT HIS SHINGLE. 


51 


go shooting with me beyond White Apple, and his 
ma ’s coming along. She said she ’d enjoy the 
visit, and be glad enough to have the tooth out if 
it does n’t stop aching.” 

Wh}^, she ’ll be here to spend the day waiting 
for Miles. Phoebe, we must be thinking what she ’d 
like for dinner.” 

Miles brought his mother in good season. ‘‘ I 
thought I ’d best tote ma over quick, ’fore she got 
out o’ the notion,” he said. 

‘^’Deed, an’ you was the one that was keen fer 
cornin’. Miles, not me. I don’t know as I ’ll let you 
touch that tooth. Dr. Alan. It ’s been gettin’ better 
every step of the w^ay.” 

Oh ! it ’s just humbugging you,” said Alan. An 
aching tooth ’s up to all manner of tricks; better 
have it out, and be done with it.” 

‘‘ Yes, ma,” urged Miles. Where’s the use dilly- 
dallyin’ about an old snag that ’s got nuther bite nor 
chaw left in it, an’ plagues you every meal-time ? ” 

“ Oh ! that won’t do, Mrs. Hardy,” said Alan. Ma 
can’t bear it if her friends don’t enjoy her dinners. 
Come, now, it ’ll be out in a minute. I wish I had 
my office ready, but the porch will do as well for this. 
Miles, just hold your ma’s head steady, won’t you ? 
When I get things fixed I ’ll have a chair with a 
head-rest, but you ’ll do as well now.” 


52 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


Catch me at such work. I can’t do it. I ’d let 
go an’ run, quick as ina begun to holler.” 

Mrs. Baird and Phoebe, busy in the kitchen mak- 
ing pies, heard what was said. 

“ Alan will be calling for you, Phoebe, next thing, 
like as not,” said her mother. 

Let him then. I ’ll not go if he calls till he ’s 
hoarse. I wish he had n’t come home.” 

Presently Alan shouted for Thad. 

^^It ’ll take all hands and the cook to help Alan 
practise medicine, I ’m afraid,” said his mother. 

Soon the task was done. 

“ Ma, here ’s Mrs. Hardy waiting to see you,” 
announced Alan. “ Ma and Phoebe are big cowards 
about nothing, Mrs. Hardy, or they needn ’t have 
been hiding all this time.” Then, as his mother 
appeared, he said, ^^Mrs. Hardy started my luck, 
ma, paid me my first fee,” — jingling the money 
gleefully. ^^How, Miles, I ’m ready, and so is 
Hawkeye.” 

Alan’s next patient was Parmer Hunt. The poor 
man’s saffron-hued face showed plainly that his ail- 
ment was j.aundice. The Bairds regarded him as 
an old friend; he had, indeed, been the first to wel- 
come them long ago to Tennessee. They were shel- 
tered under his roof while their house was building. 


ALAN HANGS OUT HIS SHINGLE. 


53 


and again when it was destroyed by fire before the 
first year was over. 

Mrs. Baird welcomed him, and lingered to say 
some sympathetic, friendly words ; but when she 
heard Alan speak of blood-letting, she fled with 
Phoebe from the house. Oh, how I wish that 
ofiice was built ! ’’ was her wail. 

Again Alan called for Thad’s help. The arrange- 
ments were the most primitive. The patient grasped 
the handle of a broom firmly, to facilitate the flow 
of blood from the arm. Alan had the eye and 
hand of a surgeon, and did his work well, so that 
the sick man went away satisfied. 

The young physician laughed at his mother’s 
squeamish woes. It almost seems as if you had 
rather the patients did n’t come, ma, instead of mak- 
ing them welcome for my sake. Of course I want 
that office, and I ’m sure to have it before long. 
One good thing, you ’ll not be bothered with my 
patients to-morrow; for we ’re going to have the 
biggest hunt of the season. I ’ve engaged Thad to 
give me an extra early breakfast. And if anybody 
comes, wanting my services, you can pack them right 
off to Dr. Smith at the settlement.” 


54 


CJIILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS, 


CHAPTEE V. 

Alan’s home practice. 

Alan had been gone several hours the next morn- 
ing when a wagon drove up to the gate. A woman 
alighted, and hurried up the path, while a man re- 
mained to hold the horses. 

I wonder who is coming, Phoebe,” said her 
mother, at the sound of the wheels. 

Phoebe, seeing the woman, cried, It ’s Mrs. Camp- 
bell, the new neighbor from the other side of White- 
water.” And they both hastened to the porch to 
meet her. 

The Campbells were a Scotch family, recently 
come to the valley. The Bairds had met them at 
church, and knew they were friends of the Craigs 
and Murrays, especially of Janet Murray. 

Mrs. Campbell asked for Dr. Baird, and seemed 
greatly disappointed on hearing that he was not at 
home, and would be absent all day. She wanted him 
in haste for her little son, who was lying in the 
wagon suffering intense pain from a dislocated shoul- 


ALAN'S HOME PRACTICE. 55 

der, caused by falling out of the hayloft that morn- 
ing. 

“We Ve cam a lang, weary way, his feyther an’ I, 
wi’ the puir laddie. An’ now we must turn, an’ gang 
double the journey to the settlement. Aye, but it ’s 
woful wi’ the child in such sair trouble.” 

“ There ’s nobody nearer than Dr. Smith. Oh ! 
I do wish my son was here, but he may even be 
away all night.” Mrs. Baird was ready to weep 
from sympathy for the Campbells and disappoint- 
ment for Alan. “ He would have been very glad 
to do what he could for the child.” 

“An’ he ’s strung an’ skilful, I ’ve heard tell. 
It ’s the like that ’s wanted for sic’ wark. It ’s 
myseP knows that, for I mind havin’ a shouther 
like Wattie’s ae time in Scotland.” Bemembering 
her old home caused Mrs. Campbell to lapse into 
broader Scotch than before, as she told of her own 
experience. ^^Aye, but I was much racked, wi’ 
pain the day, e’en to me finger ends, where the quick 
was startin’ from the nails from the strain o’ the 
muscles; I thought the doctor was lang a cornin’ 
for all he rade fast. Quick as he saw me, he kent 
what w^as wanted, for he was a varra skilful man. 
He aff wi’ his shoon, an’ him on the flure, and me 
on the flure, wi’ his fut in my arm-pit, an’ him 


56 CHILUOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

pullin’ at my hand for dear life. ’T was a sair 
tussle, muckle pain ; glad was 1 when the wark was 
done, an’ the joint pulled fairly into place again.” 

And your poor boy has to go through all that 
suffering?” said Mrs. Baird. 

^^Ayej it ’s his mither that can feel for him, puir 
little laddie. An’ it ’s mischief that can’t be got 
over in ae day nor twa, even wi’ the help o’ the 
best o’ surgeons. Afther my shouther was set, it 
was weeks upon weeks before I could clutch a 
needle.” 

0 Phoebe ! it ’s too dreadful that Alan is n’t at 
home. Can’t we do something for Mrs. Campbell ? 
Won’t you bring the child up to the house to rest 
awhile ? ” 

1 ’m fearful o’ lettin’ the time slip ; trouble 
like this is the worse for waitin’.” 

^‘Thad ’s just brought him some water from the 
spring,” said Phoebe, who had been watching the 
wagon. 

‘^Then that ’s all,” said Mrs. Campbell. ‘‘Puir 
Wattie’s pain ’s so sair that he can’t think to want 
anything till he gets rid of it. Guid-morrow. We 
must tak’ up our journey again.” 

Mrs. Baird and Phoebe watched the wagon till it 
turned away. 


ALAN'S HOME PRACTICE. 


57 


Phoebe! it seems as if it ’s been nothing but 
trouble since Alan came home. I thought I should 
be proud to have him a doctor, but I ’m really 
ashamed now. I could n’t bear to tell that poor 
woman what took him away to-day, — just his own 
pleasure.” 

She ’ll hear it some way ; and it ’ll be bad for 
him, I ’m sure. Why it ’s just like cheating to put 
up his sign, and then go out hunting all day. Oh! 
I ’m ashamed, and angry too.” 

Thad stopped at the porch before going to work 
again. Dat ’s a bad miss for Doc’ Alan, mistis. 
He ’ll sutenly feel it in his pocket, if he don’t no- 
where’s else.” 

‘‘ 0 Thad ! I don’t see how he can be so foolish 
as to lose his chances this way.” 

Good wuk an’ good pay, dat wuz. Marse Alan ’ll 
be jes’ hoppin’ when he hears ’bout Ole Saddle-bags 
gittin’ it. Mr. Campbell said he ’d pay double an’ 
more, sooner ’n tote dat chile ober any more rough 
road. He suffered fearful, fer all dey had a bed 
an’ pillers fer him in de wagon, an’ his ma tendin’ 
him constant.” 

^^If there had been any hope of Alan’s getting 
home before the day was over, they would have 
waited for him.” 


58 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


So .dey tole me. But ’t would’ a’ been no man- 
ner o’ use, fer Marse Alan ’lowed to me jes’ as he 
wuz startin’ dat he’d be gone fer two days prob’ly. 
Dey’s goin’ to carry de hunt furder off to-morrer, 
an’ he’ll stay with Miles or som’ers else.” 

“ 0 Thad ! he did n’t dare to tell such a plan to 
his father or me. He knew better.” 

^^That sign of his ought to come right down,” 
said Phoebe, eying it indignantly. 

Marse Alan tole me he ’lowed ter hang dat 
shingle to a post at de fur end o’ de lane, so ’s 
everybody on de road ’ll know where to find him.” 

“ Then I hope he ’ll build his office there,” said 
Phoebe, instead of near the house, so we won’t 
have any more bother.” 

His office ! ” said her mother. 0 Phoebe ! when 
will it ever be built ? ” 

Thad felt as hopeless as his mistress, but did not 
speak his thoughts. 

I could cry for that poor child, riding all these 
long miles with a shoulder out of joint,” said Mrs. 
Baird. I ’ve seen the boy at church wdth his 
mother, a pretty, rosy-c}ieeked little fellow.” 

Well,” said Thad, ‘‘when I seed him dis mornin’ 
he looked dat white an’ tired out, you ’d ’low he ’d 
been sick a long spell.” 


ALAN'S HOME PRACTICE. 


59 


“ I do hope Alan will be sorry for being away/’ 
said his mother ; but he ’ll miss whoever comes 
to-morrow.” 

Mebbe not, mistis ; dere ’s a storm gatherin’. I 
feel it in de air. If it breaks, de sport ’ll have to 
wait.” 

The next morning the sky was so threatening 
that Thad made sure to get all his stock under 
shelter, and Mr. Baird lighted a fire in the sitting- 
room.” 

a\ye ’re in for an all-day gust, ma,” said he. 

Oh ! I do hope Alan will be weather-wise enough 
to hurry home.” 

He is,” said Phoebe. I hear his horse in the 
lane, but the rain ’s ahead of him.” She retreated 
to the house as the great drops came pattering on 
the porch roof. 

In a few moments Alan entered. Ha ! it ’s good 
to have a fire, pa.” 

You ’ve come home too late. Doctor,” said his 
father. 

^‘Why, no; I got in just in time to save a 
drenching.” 

But not in time to save your credit, nor to put 
money in your pocket. You ’ve met with a big 
loss, sir.” 


60 


CniLTIOWEE BOYS IN BARNESS. 


^^Why, pa ” — 

“ Yes, Alan, I was so grieved at your being away 
yesterday,” added his mother. You missed a 
patient.” 

“A patient? Well, ma, I don’t see why you 
need mind. I thought you hated to have patients 
come here, as long as I had n’t any office.” 

‘‘But, Alan,” said Phoebe, “this was little Wattie 
Campbell, and his shoulder” — 

“Now, you need n’t all be so eager to tell me a 
story I know already. Mr. Hardy heard it at the 
settlement last evening ; and I ’m mad as fire, of 
course, to think Old Saddle-bags got a chance to- 
pocket my fee.” 

“Yes, and a chance to crow over you.” 

“It ’s ten dollars -for setting that joint, and of 
course there ’d have been a bill for attendance. 
You ’d better believe I mind such a loss. It makes 
a man feel mighty poor, happening just at the 
beginning of his practice too.” 

“And all his own fault too,” added Phoebe. 

“That ’s not fair, Phoebe,” protested Alan. 

“ What hurt me most,” said his mother, “ was to 
think how the poor child suffered, and his parents, 
too, in their anxiety.” 

“Now, ma, what ’s the use of saying any more 


ALAN'S HOME PRACTICE. 


61 


about it ? Things can’t be helped when they ’re 
all over, can they ? They ’d better be forgot- 
ten.” 

“I reckon you have n’t set the ball rolling yet 
for that office, Alan,” said his father. 

Yes, I have, pa ; I saw lots of friends yes- 
terday, and they ’ll come when I send for them. 
Of course nobody can do such work in a bad spell 
of weather like this. Listen to that storm. I ’m 
glad I got home. Ma, if you ’d just clear off this 
table, and let me use it, I could unpack some of my 
drugs, and make some pills and powders, then I ’d 
be ready for sick folks. It ’s just the day for such 
work, when nobody can stir outside.” 

They were all interested in Alan’s stores. He 
displayed his handsome Wedgwood mortars, and 
his dainty scales and weights. Phoebe soon learned 
to balance them, and Alan was delighted to show 
her all about the making of powders. 

Better not try to learn those things, Phoebe,” 
said her father, who sat beside the fire smoking 
his pipe. ^^Yoii ’ll find you have a house on your 
shoulders if you don’t look out.” 

How, pa,” protested Alan, you ’ve got to let 
Phoebe help me if she wants to. I never could bear 
to do such things by myself. I taught Sol to make 


62 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


them at the doctor’s. I wish he was here now. I 
’ll miss him awfully when I get busy.” 

Presently Alan began to pound something in 
his large mortar, and soon his mother began to 
sneeze. 

What ’s that, Alan ? ” cried she. Oh ! it must 
be aloes.” 

Of course it is, ma. Did n’t I say I was going 
to make pills ? I must have aloes.” 

“ But it chokes me, Alan ; I never could bear it, 
not the least particle. Oh ! do be careful not to spill 
any on the carpet. How could I ever get rid of it, 
and this is my new carpet too ! ” 

Mrs. Baird sought refuge on the porch in spite of 
the rain. 

Pa, Alan ’s the one that ought to go out, not 
ma,” said Phoebe. 

“ I don’t see that it would do any good now, the 
room ’s too full of the stuff ; ma can’t abide it, I 
know.” 

Phoebe found her mother crying bitterly on the 
porch. 

Child, child, what shall we do ? ” sobbed she. 

never dreamed of what was before me when I 
encouraged Alan to be a doctor. To think of my 
being driven out of doors.” 


ALAN'S HOME PRACTICE. 


63 


I would n’t ever let Alan do it again, if I were 
you or pa, I ’m sure of that. And you can’t stay 
here ; see, the rain ’s coming every way ; you ’ll get 
wet, and be sick. I ’m going to call Thad to make 
up the kitchen fire this minute. It ’ll soon be time, 
to start dinner, anyhow.” 

Thad was Phoebe’s confidant and sympathizer. 
He understood his little mistress’s woes better than 
either of her parents did. 

What will ever become of ma, Thad ? ” said 
Phoebe. “ Every day since Alan came home the 
trouble seems to get worse.” 

Pore mistis ! she ain’t fit to have doct’rin’ goin’ 
on in her house, dat ’s a fac’. She ’s gittin’ ole 
an’ peaky under it. She had orter go off wisicatin’ 
som’ers or nother, an’ jes’ hab a good restin’-time till 
Marse Alan gits kinder settled in his orfis an’ wuk, 
with his patients cornin’ to him reg’lar an’ keepin’ 
him at it. Then, when she gits back home, an’ fines 
him growed sensible an’ kind-hearted, she ’ll be 
happy an’ hearty ag’in.” 

“ 0 Thad ! do you mean go on that long visit to 
Virginia to see Aunt Eachel, — ma and I ? I ’d like 
it of all things, but ma ’s so afraid of the journey 
that she can’t bear to think about it; she always 
says she can’t do it.” 


64 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


“Mebbe she M feel diffunt while things is in the 
fix dey is/’ 

‘‘I ’ll write to auntie and see what she says 
before I say anything to ma ; but I do hope we can 
coax her to go.” 

Phoebe’s face looked brighter than it had for a 
long time, as she ran away to tell her mother that 
the fire was blazing. 

“’T will be a dark day to dis pore ole nigga to 
be lef’ behine in Tennessee wid only massa an’ 
Doc Alan,” was Thad’s gloomy thought. But I 
’low little missy an’ me kin wuk fer dat wisit 
easier dan we kin build de parlor an’ orfis.” 


A DISCONTENTED CRAIG. 


65 


CHAPTEE yi. 

A DISCONTENTED CRAIG. 

John Craig’s discontent with his lot returned 
and grew greater than ever as the months rolled 
by, and the harvest brought him more than he 
could do. 

I ’m beginning to hate this Chilhowee farm,” 
thought he, standing in the midst of the rows of 
pulled flax, and remembering all the work required 
of him before it was ready for his mother’s wheel. 

When will holiday ever come ? ” There was 
indigo to make, the leaves were waiting for the vat; 
and cotton-seeds to pick out. Such work lasted 
far into the winter, an endless task it seemed to 
John. 

I wish we had n’t raised such big crops ; father 
thinks I ought to be satisfied because there ’ll be 
some chance for me to go to college next year. I 
don’t reckon he ’ll give me the money for anything 
else. I would n’t dare to ask for it to go travel- 
ling on, though I ’ve earned it. But I can’t stay 


66 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


here. I must see something beyond these moun- 
tains, even if I go afoot. I can ’t take poor old 
Snip ; Ken and Don and Hugh all rode out of the 
valley on fine horses. But when I go it ’ll be differ- 
ent. I ’ll be running away, on Shank’s pony, with 
an empty pocket.” John brooded over his plan 
with grim satisfaction, though he was far from 
happy when he thought of the distress of the family ; 
and then, what would grandfather say ? 

^‘Of course I ’ll write and tell them w^here I am 
as soon as I begin to make money. I hope it ’ll be 
quick, so I can get a horse.” 

John felt that his case was hard. Hugh had left 
him his pony, Snip, as being too old for any more 
long journeys or hardships. ’ll have to leave 
Snip at home, just as Hugh did. Alec ’ll ride him 
to mill, and take care of him, and I reckon he ’ll be 
dead before I ever come back again ; and Bing, too, 
poor old fellow. But I ’ll find a good dog some- 
where.” 

Many things contributed to John’s discontent. 
The sight of Alan Baird’s easy life, full of pleasures, 
made him envious ; though he would not acknowledge 
it even to himself, for he had been in the habit of 
despising Alan and his ways. How he even envied 
Miles Hardy, because he drove a stage, and travelled 


A DISCONTENTED CRAIG. 67 

far into Virginia, and had wonderful adventures to 
boast of on his return from each trip. But I ’d 
want something different, for he always goes the 
same road. I reckon I ’ll not stop till I ’ve been as 
far as Jacob Webster went, — all the way to New 
Orleans. Oh ! I won’t know where to stop. I must 
see the ocean. Ken said he was bound to get a sight 
of it before he comes back to Chilhowee. Why, even 
Thad ’s seen the ocean.” John had often heard 
Thad’s stories of his journeys, to Charleston in the 
days before he came to Tennessee. 

Sometimes John felt so impatient to start on the 
free, wandering life for which he longed, that he 
was almost tempted to leave the plough in the fur- 
row, and run, just as he was, through the cedar for- 
est, ford Silver Creek, and begin his journey. Then 
he would hesitate, thinking, That would be too 
much like Alan.” To a boy brought up like John, 
it was not easy to break away from home ties, es- 
pecially from such a happy home as that of Chil- 
howee parsonage. 

But he was planning, trying to save money; he 
had very little chance of earning any, but he knew 
how to tan squirrel skins, by putting them in lye, 
so that the hair all came off, leaving them white 
and pliable. He tanned them for Hugh, who liked 


68 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


to cover his books with them. Now he found the 
hatter at the settlement would buy them at a tip 
apiece, but John had not much spare time for tan- 
ning. I can never fill my pockets this way.” 

He learned all he could from Jacob Webster 
about his travels, especially by water ; made him de- 
scribe the steamboats on the Mississippi, and thought 
nothing could please him better than to travel in 
one. Though Mr. Webster’s stories were tales of 
hardships and disasters, they fascinated John, and 
did not daunt him in the least. 

But his visits to the blackmith came to a sudden 
end. Mr. Webster, who had been in debt ever since 
his two New Orleans ventures, was obliged to sell 
all his Chilhowee property to satisfy his creditors. 
He was in very great trouble over the loss of his 
home and business, not knowing which way to turn 
for a living. 

Parson Craig was very anxious to help him. At 
this time the head man of the Indian mission visited 
Chilhowee parsonage, and told how he was in search 
of a blacksmith, a Christian man, for the mission. 
He was ready to offer work and wages to a suita- 
ble man. 

Parson Craig at once recommended Jacob Web- 
ster as one well fitted for the place. The arrange- 


A DISCONTENTED CRAIG. 


69 


ment was soon made ; the blacksmith gladly accepted 
the olfer, and went without delay to the Indian 
country, accompanied by his family — his wife, sis- 
ter, and son. 

John Craig was so much interested in the black- 
smith’s troubles that for the time he almost forgot 
his own. He was glad that he had learned so 
much about travelling while he had opportunity. 
Now he felt sure he could find the Indian country, 
and reach Natchez and the great river, even if he 
went alone. 

Boating and swimming were his delight. The 
thought of travelling on the water reconciled him 
to doing without a horse. It also made him will- 
ing to wait till spring as the best time for his 
journey. 

But he could scarcely curb his impatience. As 
he cut the winter’s wood he thought, “ This is the 
last time for this task.” When he looked at the 
bare fields, he said, “I shall not drop corn here 
again.” 

He did not speak his thoughts to any one. Once 
he wrote in such a way to Don as to make him 
anxious ; and Don decided to write to his father 
on the subject, as he had before to his grand- 
father. 


70 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HABNESS, 


Parson Craig was not surprised. He had been 
studying John. Now he read Don’s letter, and dis- 
cussed it with his wife. It was an anxious hour to 
the parents. 

When it comes to choosing whether a son of 
mine shall run away,” said the parson, or leave his 
home with a father’s blessing and love, it will not 
take long to decide.” 

<‘No,” said Mrs. Craig. ^‘But I cannot believe 
John would do such a thing. It ’s not like our chil- 
dren.” 

I think he intends to leave home, mother. He ’s 
different from his brothers. And here I’ve been 
trying all along to fit him into the same groove that 
did so well for them. I feel responsible for this 
result. John is a boy of strong will and great deter- 
mination ; and after harboring this plan for so many 
months, it is something that will not down at any 
bidding of ours, I fear. I must speak to him, — get 
him to show me his heart.” 

“ Don is the only one he has ever been open with.” 

It was a new and surprising experience to John to 
be urged by his father to tell his inmost wishes to 
him, to speak his desires freely, with a hope that 
they might be gratified, though they were directly 
opposed to his parents’ most cherished plans. He 


A DISCONTENTED CRAIG. 


71 


was quite ashamed to put his rebellious thoughts 
into words, when he realised their love. 

You want me to go to college when I ’m sixteen, 
father ; but oh, I can’t ! I can’t do it ; and it ’s just 
as bad to stay on the farm. This valley ’s big, the 
biggest in the Avorld, some people say, but I want 
to get out of it; the mountains shut me in, they 
smother me. I ’m aching to get to the other side, 
to get far off.” 

How were you going to do it ? ” 

I thought some day I’d — I ’d go away. I ’m 
such a walker, I would n’t care how far I went. 
I ’d walk to the Mississippi maybe ; I ’m very strong. 
I conld earn money. I ’d like to go to some place 
where there ’s a great deal of money, and not come 
back till I had my pockets full. I want to see a 
great many new places.” 

And you were making this plan without let- 
ting me know, because you thought I would n’t 
agree ? ” 

I did n’t believe you ’d like it at all, for I know 
you want me to go to college; but this journey 
would n’t cost you anything, I could walk and pay 
my way.” 

I do not doubt but that you could,” said his 
father, looking at John’s strong, well-knit frame 


72 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


and resolute face. But a son who has served 
me so long and faithfully shall not go away afoot, 
penniless. T can do better for you than that.” 

John was overjoyed, and felt that his fortune was 
already made. 0 father ! then you agree ! But 
I' can’t take Snip.” 

<^No, poor fellow, his travelling days are past, 
or Hugh never would have left him behind ; but 
you can have one of the farm-horses for your holi- 
day. You can have Nick.” 

Oh ! it won’t be a holiday. I ’m going to hunt 
work, to seek my fortune ; and I reckon a horse will 
help me mightily, specially if it ’s Nick.” 

John was wonderfully light-hearted after his 
father and he had made their agreement. The 
sight of his son’s happiness went far to reconcile 
Parson Craig to the new plans. 

‘‘That ’s a changed boy,” he said to his wife. 
“ The thought of college must have been a woful 
burden to him.” 

“ Yes, that ’s plain, since he would sooner fight 
his own way in the world than go.” 

Now that he was happier, the time of prepara- 
tion seemed short to John. He found a great many 
things to do. He made a canoe. “This is just to 
get my hand in,” he said to Alec. “ Maybe I ’ll 


A DISCONTENTED CRAIG. 


73 


need one in a hurry some day, and I want to be 
sure I can make it. I ^11 leave this for you to row 
on Lake Murray.^’ 

When will I find time for boating ? You he 
leaving me everything to do.” 

Yes, it ’s your turn to grumble ; only thirteen, 
and master of Chilhowee Farm. You he the worst 
off of any Craig boy yet. That comes of being the 
youngest.” 

‘^Well, I ’d sooner be in my shoes than yours, — 
going away, you don’t know where, nor what you’ll 
do. Alan Baird calls it a wild-goose-chase.” 

^‘And does n’t Alan wish he had just my chance, 
instead of sitting at home weighing powders ? ” 

^^Keii thinks it ’s worth while to be a doctor. I 
wonder you don’t wait till he and Margaret get 
home, or till Don’s holidays.” 

Oh ! I ’m so glad father has n’t asked me to. 
I made up my mind long ago that I could n’t stay 
here a day after I was sixteen.” 

At last John started on his journey to see the 
world. He wore a new suit made by his mother for 
the occasion. In his pocket was a purse from his 
father containing more money than he had dared 
to hope for. His Uncle Will had given him a new 


gun. 


74 


CEILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


^^This is better than going to college, father,” he 
said at parting. 

I trust you will find it so, my son.” 

Always remember,” said hi§ mother, how glad 
we shall be to have you home again, John.” 

^^Yes, I know, mother; and I hn coming back; 
oh, certainly. But this is a good time to go away ; 
father agrees that I hn old enough. Doifit boys 
go to war when they ^re sixteen ? ” 

“ You Ve got as tough a battle to fight as any 
soldier, John,” said his father. 

“I ’m ready for it.” John laid his hand on his 
gun as he rode away. 

He had already taken leave of relatives and 
friends ; so, though he saw his uncle and little Craig 
on the porch at Murray Hill, he only waved his hat 
and shouted a merry good-by as her hastened on. 
He passed Baird’s Lane without looking up it, but 
presently heard shouts and footsteps. Thad came 
running, with a bag in his hand. 

Hold up ! hold on ! My? Marse John ! but you 
is in a tearin’ big hurry to git outer dis yere val- 
ley.” 

I am, Thad. I don’t know how to wait till I 
reach a road I ’ve never seen before.” 

Nick ’ll tote you dar quick enough — ’pears so. 


A DISCONTENTED CBAIG. 


75 


Marse John, heah am doughnuts in dis ole mealbag. 
Mistis sont ’em wid her compliments — dey ’s mighty 
tasty eatin’ when folks is campin’ in de woods.” 

Yes, indeed, they are. Tell Mrs. Baird I ’m 
very much obliged. Here, hang the bag on the 
saddle-bow. I ’ll begin to make a haul on them 
pretty soon.” 

“ Cou’se you will. Mistis says to tell you ‘jolt- 
ing won’t hurt ’em ; ’ but I sez, ‘ Sutenly ’t won’t, 
fer dey ’ll not git no chance ter jolt — dey ’ll go 
like dew, dat ’s de way wid doughnuts.’ Now, ain’t 
dey tasty ? I ’ll tell mistis as how you begun on 
’em immejit. It ’ll tickle her.” Then Thad drew 
a very small bag from his pocket. It was made 
of strong tow ; and John knew, as soon as he saw 
it, that it held shot. I made dese yere a purpose 
fer you, Marse John.” 

“ It ’s the best present you could, make me, Thad. 
Bullets get used up very fast. And here ’s my 
new gun just ready for them.” 

You had orter hab de chance to use it frequent, 
you ’re such a fus’-rate shot. Doc Alan, he ’s de 
one fer wastin’ bullets, from bein’ so keen fer 
huntin’. His pa an’ me had ter be pow’ful quiet 
’bout dese yere uns, or he ’d ’a’ wu’med ’em outer 
us, sho’s you bo ’n.” 


76 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN TiAIiNESS. 


Ken has been too busy to do much hunting 
since he began to practise.” 

I dow so ; but Doc’ Alan ain’t him, he ’s jes’ 
his ole self come home ag’in, pesterin’ fer bullets, 
an’ pesterin’ fer wood fer dat orfis fire, an’ alius 
keepin’ de wood-pile low when it ’s a-burnin’, so ’s 
mistis ’mos’ freezes over to de house. Dat orfis 
been more trouble dan profit, so fur.” 

‘‘Alan said it would be the making of him if he 
once got it.” 

“ He clean disremembered all about de fire-wood ; 
him an’ his pa bof, so dey says ; an’ de chimley’s 
monst’us big, burns up a pile o’ logs in no time ; 
an’ who ’s to do de choppin’ fer de extry fire ? 
dar ’s de rub. I can’t squeeze it in nohow.” 

“ Alan told me he would soon have a boy to 
make pills and tote wood for him.” 

“He done tole you dat! den he means black Sol 
from de ole doctor’s. But he can’t git de nigga 
widout marryin’ de young mistis. Dat ’pears to be 
his idee now. Pore mistis an’ little missy been in 
a pow’ful takin’ on dat subjec’. Doc Alan sutenly 
orter build a house for his wife ’fore he fetches 
her home.” 

Thad would have been pleased to continue his 
tale of family woes, if he had not known John was 
impatient to be off. 


A DISCONTENTED CBAIG. 


77 


Well, good-by, Thad,” said John, going 

to ride a long way to-day.’^ 

Thad watched the young traveller till he was out 
of sight. 

^‘Posson Craig mus’ hate ter see dat boy turnin’ 
his back on college, when he ’s so keen fer all his 
chilluns ter git book lamin’ ; but Marse John ’s 
boun’ ter be a credit to de fambly, when all ’s sayed 
an’ done, suten sho.” 


78 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


CHAPTER VII. 

CAMPING WITH THE BOATMEN. 

John thoroughly enjoyed his first day’s journey. 
The beautiful world was all astir; trees budding, 
grass springing up, spring flowers bursting into 
bloom, birds at their nest-building or flying in flocks 
overhead, coming from the south to seek their sum- 
mer homes. John found travellers on the road, 
going both east and west, each with a tale of bad 
roads and worse fording ; but he did not linger, his 
horse was fresh, and he hurried on, only to meet 
others, however. Many besides himself were out 
seeking their fortune. ‘^No danger of my losing 
the road, with so many on it.” 

When camping-time came he was glad to join a 
friendly emigrant family, and share their fire. He 
tethered his horse near by, and slept well with his 
saddle for a pillow. 

John soon found, as he journeyed on, that the 
canebrakes were more formidable than those in 
Chilhowee, and the bogs deeper ; he had to guide 


CAMPING WITH THE BOATMEN. 


79 


liis horse carefully where the road skirted the black 
masses. He had a great deal of hard cliiiibing to 
do, and many steep descents, down which he had 
to lead his horse. The rivers were the greatest 
obstacles ; sometimes he could not find the ford, 
even after wasting a long time in the search, rid- 
ing up and down the bank, then how glad John 
was to hear a boatman’s horn, or to see some experi- 
enced traveller riding up. Failing such helps, he 
would plunge in, and perhaps be forced to swim 
his horse. 

There were countless creeks to cross, which were 
often so swollen and swift as to be like rivers. 
John found that he must expect a daily wetting, 
but he was so hardy that he did not mind that. 

After several days’ travel he began to watch for 
the boatmen that Mr. Webster had said were on the 
road at that time of year, coming home from New 
Orleans. One evening he stood on the bank of a 
stream, undecided whether to cross over then or 
wait till morning. He was ready to go into camp, 
having shot a wild turkey that afternoon. 

As he debated, he saw several men on the other 
side, looking for the ford, who seemed to answer the 
blacksmith’s description. They were very rough- 
looking, so black from the sun as scarcely to be 


80 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


taken for white men. They were dressed in ragged 
suits of Kentucky jeans, and each carried a bundle 
tied in a ragged blanket. 

They are certainly boatmen,’’ John decided, as 
he watched them cross. They put their bundles on 
their heads to keep them out of the water as they 
waded over. One of them had a gun, which he held 
high for safety. 

Howdy, sir,” said the first as he landed. “ Goin’ 
to try the ford ? It ’s deep wadin’. Your hoss ’ll 
flounder, less he ’s mighty sure-footed.” 

Powerful strong current,” said the next one ; 
^<that ’s the worst of it.” 

Better stay on this side till morning, young 
man,” said the one with the gun. ‘‘The water ’s 
bound to lower.” 

“ I had just decided to wait,” replied John. 

“ Then camp right down with us. Our day’s 
tramp ’s over.” 

John was not at all pleased with the looks of 
the strangers, but his eagerness to hear boating 
experiences made him agree to the proposal. 

“We ’re in luck to meet you; here ’s a gobbler 
big enough to make supper for us all,” said one, 
laying hold of the turkey which hung at John’s 
saddle. 


CAMPING WITH THE BOATMEN. 


81 


Yes ; it ’s the finest I ever shot.” 

Out on a huntin’ trip, are you ? ” 

‘^No; riding across country to the Mississippi.” 

Don’t say ! Why, we ’ve just hailed from them 
parts, footin’ it from New Orleans; been on the 
road better ’n three weeks a’ready.” 

“ How did you get down ? Are you boat-hands ? ” 

^^To be sure, nothin’ else,” said the man with 
the gun, whom the others called Pete. We 
shipped on a Kentucky ark, an’ worked our way 
down the Ohio and Mis’sip’, an’ now have got to 
walk back an’ live like savages to save what little 
wages we earned.” 

Sorry times we ’ve had, from first to last,” 
said one companion. 

dog’s life could n’t ’a’ been worse,” agreed 
the other. 

The men made haste to light a fire, and set 
the turkey to roasting, while John tethered his 
horse. 

Soon all were seated, telling their adventures as 
they ate their supper. The boatmen’s stories re- 
vealed a very rough phase of life ; but they did 
not discourage John, who was sure his experience 
would be far different. 

They professed to be greatly surprised when John 


82 


CHILIIOWEE BOYS IN HABNESS. 


told them that he was anxious to get employment 
on a boat. 

youngster like you, with a good coat and 
fine horse, out lookin’ fer work ; an’ boatin’ of all 
things.” 

Why, you ’ll have to pay out a big part of your 
wages for that critter’s keep. But mebbe you ’low 
to sell him. What ’s your price ? ” 

I don’t intend to sell him. Horses go on the 
boats with their owners. I know that. W^hen my 
two uncles went to the war, they carried their 
horses with them, all the way to Hew Orleans.” 

Ho ! goin’ to fight ’s different. You git gov’- 
ment transportation then.” 

‘‘ This young fellow won’t be at no bother with 
his boss,” said Pete. The redskins ’ll steal him 
long before he gits aboard any boat.” 

Yes, siree ! that ’s somethin’ to think of ; ’fore 
long you ’ll come to where Injuns is just swarmin’, 
an’ you ’ll find them nothin’ but a parcel o’ thieves.” 
I ’ve lived near Indians a long time,” said John. 

I ’m not afraid of them.” 

“Well, you ’ll sing another song after you cross 
Buffalo Eiver ; you ’ll git a chance to see real sav- 
ages, an’ thieves, if you never did before. They 
come nigh strippin’ us of everything.” 


CAMPING WITH THE BOATMEN, 


83 


Yes/’ agreed Pete, only leavin’ one gun amongst 
us. If you ’ve got any money about you, sir, they 
’ll have it or your life.” 

Did they get yours ? ” asked John. 

“ Come mighty nigh it ; but there was three of 
us, an’ all fighters, — that ’s what saved us. Our 
money was too hard come by to part with that 
way, — ’t ain’t no fortune neither ; fifty dollars is 
poor pay for a season’s hard work, but it is the 
most any of us got.” 

John soon tired of the conversation. He ima- 
gined that the men were exaggerating the dangers 
to alarm him. One of them even went so far as to 
urge him to give up his plan, and turn back with 
them. You could -go a good long ways with us 
without gittin’ very fur off your trail,” he said ; 

an’ it might be the savin’ of your life, who 
knows ? ” 

John, having finished his supper, tried to settle 
himself to sleep. The men still sat by the fire, 
smoking their pipes and talking. John thought he 
had never seen such savage-looking faces. 

I don’t want to have any more to do with 
them. I ’ll get away at sun-up. I ’d sooner spend 
the night alone than in such company.” 

The men had been talking quite loudly. Pres- 


84 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN H ABN ESS, 


ently one said in a whisper, ^^Now ’s your time, 
Pete. The young chap ’s off sound, he ain’t stirred 
this good bit.” 

The words put John on the alert. But Pete only 
went over to where John’s horse was tethered, and, 
gathering a few handfuls of grass, fed him, stroking 
his shoulder and patting him as he ate. 

‘‘What ’s Pete’s notion for making friends with 
my horse ? ” wondered John. 

The fire blazed up, and revealed Pete stooping 
down, fumbling with the stake-rope. Instantly John 
was alarmed. “Untying the rope, is he ? A horse- 
thief ! ” He sat up, clutching his gun. 

Pete, who had been watching him, sauntered 
back to the fire, saying, “ That boss of your ’n ’s 
about starved. He can’t reach enough grass to 
give him anything like a decent feed. The stake 
ought to be shifted to where he ’ll git a better 
chance.” 

“ He ’ll do for to-night,” said John, who was still 
suspicious. He looked about, and saw that his sad- 
dle, which he had placed near him, had been carried 
farther ofP. He rose to reclaim it. 

“ I calculated to hang that in a tree-crotch for 
you,” said one of the men. 

“I want it for a pillow;” and John, his head on 


CAMPING WITH THE BOATMEN. 


85 


his saddle, and his gun in his hand, felt that he was 
in evil case. 

Pete had got off with my horse, the others 
were going to pick up my saddle and run.^’ John 
shivered as he watched his three enemies seated by 
the fire. Oh ! I ’ll have to be sure to keep awake. 
It won’t do to let them think I ’m asleep again. 
They ’d try to get my money, if it was n’t for my 
gun; they ’ll steal that, too, if they get a chance. 
Oh ! why did I camp with them ? Why did I talk ' 
with them ? What can I do if they steal my horse ? 
They ’d kill me for that horse. I can see it is only 
my gun that keeps them from murdering me. I can 
tell by Pete’s face.” 

Every moment increased John’s alarm. It was 
a terrible ordeal. His only hope was that the 
men were so tired that they would not be able 
to outwatch him, but would presently fall asleep ; 
then he would make his escape as quickly as pos- 
sible. 

He watched and listened. ^‘They are talking to 
try to keep themselves awake,” thought he. Then 
came silence. ^^They want to give me a chance to 
go to sleep.” He saw them nodding, so overcome 
that it seemed as if they might fall from the log on 
which they sat, into the fire. At last the three lay 


86 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS, 


prostrate, each one snoring so loudly that John felt 
sure his footsteps could not be heard. 

Then John rose, and quickly hastened to his 
horse. He knew how terror had taken hold on 
him when he found his hands trembling so that 
he could scarcely fasten the saddle-girth. But 
I must do it, for we ’ll have a long, quick ride 
before we ’re safe. Oh ! if I could only have got 
Pete’s gun. But he never let go of it, sound asleep 
as he was.” 

The danger was by no means over, even after John 
had mounted his horse; for Nick’s footsteps could 
not be muffled, and the formidable stream was to be 
crossed. How he wished he had forded it in the 
day-time, instead of waiting. 

The camp was very near the water. How terrible 
if the sleepers should wake before the crossing was 
over. John guided his horse down the bluff, his 
heart quaking as he crushed the twigs, and stumbled 
on the stones. How loud every motion sounded ! what 
a terrible swish the water made as they plunged 
into it ! The moon lighted them ; and they got safely 
over, though with much floundering. As John 
urged his horse up the bank on the other side, he 
heard the dreaded voices, a fearful sound, angry 
shouts and imprecations, urging, commanding him 


CAMPING WITH THE BOATMEN. 87 

to stop. Then a bullet whizzed past, and buried 
itself in a tree-trunk a few pace? off. 

Now he had reached the road; he saw it plain in 
the moonlight ; his horse flew over it ; he heard 
the crash of the next bullet, but he was beyond it. 
What an escape ! But was he safe ? Surely his 
pursuers would cross over and follow him; .they 
were swift-footed, some men were as fleet as deer, 
and his horse and outfit were much coveted prizes ; 
so John sped on over the moonlit trading-path, 
listening for the terrible bullet, and dreading to 
meet some j)itfall which would cause him to become 
a prey to his enemies, who knew the way, while it 
was strange to him. 

For some distance the road was wide and straight, 
easy for the horse; easy too, for the three men to 
follow. John shivered when he thought what a 
plain target he was for Peters gun in the bright 
moonlight. He was so sure they were following that 
he did not stop to listen for their footsteps ; he 
felt that he had no time to lose. 

Presently a bend in the road brought him into 
the midst of a tall forest. Tree-branches interlaced 
across his path, scarcely a moonbeam could struggle 
through. His way was as dark before him as if 
he had been in the cedar forest in Chilhowee. Still 


88 


CHILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNES, 


he hastened on. Then came a break, caused by a 
creek ; without a pause horse and rider plunged 
down the steep bank and into the water, which, 
fortunately was not deep. But the bed was very 
rocky ; the horse caught his feet among the sharp 
stones, and had a hard struggle to pull free. What 
if Nick loses a shoe ? thought John. 

At last they were over. But now came a rough, 
winding road, — cliffs on one side, steep slopes on 
the other. Here ’s a gully to slip into ! No more 
night rides for me, I hope.’’ He remembered the 
tales his brothers and Alan had told him of Mr. 
Yost’s gully, and guided his horse carefully. There 
’d be nobody to save me if I got to the bottom.” 
Did not he hear savage roars ? Dangers were mul- 
tiplying, and he obliged to go at a snail’s pace. 

After travelling in this way for what seemed a 
long time, he came to a more open place, where the 
moon again shone brightly. He took courage till 
he heard rushing water, and saw that here was 
another stream to cross. John, resolved not to let 
any obstacle stop him, brought Nick to the brink. 
Once there the animal, hitherto so easily guided, re- 
fused to go any farther ; no urging could make 
him step into the Avater. John, angry at the 
poor beast, struck him sharply with his whip, but 


CAMPING WITH THE BOATMEN, 


89 


with no avail. Only a dumb creature could be so 
stubborn, keeping me on this side when my life ’s 
in danger.” 

He was forced to turn back, and climb the bank 
again. The horse went willingly enough when once 
away from the water. He spent the rest of the night 
in a thicket a little off the road. At daylight the 
sound of rushing water made him know which way 
to turn. Soon he stood on the bank of the stream 
which his horse had refused to cross in the dark. 
He found it deep and dangerous. “We could never 
have got over in the night. Nick was wiser than I. 
This is one of the rivers the boatmen told me about, 
to try to frighten me.” 

Now he began to think of breakfast. He watched 
for game, and soon shot a partridge. Then he wanted 
a fire without the trouble of lighting it. He rode on 
till he found a deserted camp, where the fire still 
smouldered. There he broiled the partridge, and fed 
his horse with almost the last handful of corn in his 
bag. 

In that day’s journey John met several companies 
of boatmen, but his recent experience made him wish 
to avoid them. “ What savages they seem to be ! 
No use talking to such men. I heard all I want to 
know, and more, from that set yesterday.” 


90 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN H ABN ESS. 


Some of them looked so much like his dreaded 
enemies that John’s heart quaked at first sight, fear- 
ing that after all here was Pete. He rode as fast as 
the difficulties of the way permitted, and did not 
make friends even with peaceable-looking emigrants 
going his way. I don’t feel like trusting anybody. 
I reckon I ’ll try how camping alone works to-night.” 


ALONE IN THE WILDS. 


91 


CHAPTER yilL 

ALONE IN THE WILDS. 

Early in the afternoon John’s horse began to 
flag, and, unless urged on, stopped continually to 
crop the wayside grass. 

“Tired from last night, and hungry as can be. 
That ’s the way I feel too,” said John. “ I ’d 
better choose a camping-ground before Nick gives 
out altogether. I wish I could come across another 
fine turkey like yesterday’s; Pd make sure of get- 
ing some good of it myself this time.” 

He looked about till he found a spot that pleased 
him. There was a fine spring, and a clear little 
creek with fish, and plenty of wood on the ground 
ready for his fire, dry as tinder. “There was a 
hurricane here long ago,” was his thought as he 
looked at the fallen logs, rotten from age. Not far 
off was a canebrake and a great swamp. “ It 
would n’t do to ride about here after night, but 
these canes ’ll make a feast for Nick.” 

He cut a great armful of the young sweet cane 


92 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


which was . everywhere springing up on the edge 
of the brake. 

While the horse ate his supper, John fished for 
his, using a dry cane for a rod. 

The cane in the brake grew twenty to thirty 
feet high, and stood so close that a man could not 
walk amongst it, except where a fallen tree had 
made a way ; but wild animals crept into its depths, 
and haunted it both day and night. John, who 
thought he knew all about canebrakes, did not feel 
afraid to stay near one, even at night, with a good 
fire between him and it. 

While his fish broiled he parched a handful of 
corn, the last he had in his bag. He was glad 
he had not fed it to Nick, for fish alone would not 
have satisfied his hunger. 

I must be on the lookout for some settler that 
has corn to spare. It goes very well with fish. I 
could n’t have done without it to-night. It ’s dif- 
ferent with turkey. I can make believe the breast 
is bread.” 

After supper he lay upon the grass with great 
content, well satisfied to be camping alone, and 
tired enough to be glad to have a long night’s 
rest in prospect. ‘‘ This fire will last, certainly. I 
don’t know how many trees I ’ve got burning here. 


ALONE IN THE WILDS, 


93 


big ones too, and lots more ready to catch when 
the blaze reaches them. This is as big as any 
bonfire Don ever built when Uncle Will and Ken 
cleared the farm, and here was the wood all ready 
to my hand. I hardly had to lift a stick. Nick 
and I can’t be harmed by anything that ’s in the 
cane brake to-night.” The fire seemed like a merry 
thing, sparkling and crackling, the blaze leaping 
up in great tongues. It fascinated John. All 
around were fascinations, — the bright rippling brook, 
the great trees in their green freshness, full of 
singing-birds seeking their nests. With Nick only 
a few paces off, and his gun beside him, he did 
not feel lonely nor afraid ; but as he lay there in 
the gathering twilight, he thought, I’d like it if 
Hugh or Don was here now, so I could tell them 
how dreadful last night was ; but I reckon I ’d 
be too sleepy to talk long.” 

As John slept he had a frightful dream. In it 
Pete came riding up on Nick, with John’s gun ; 
behind him were all the other boatmen that he had 
met on the road, dozens of them, each mounted ; 
they fired at him, he heard the shots, a great vol- 
ume it seemed ; the flash of the powder nearly 
blinded him, and their horses stamped as if they 
had gone mad. John tried to escape, and the effort 


94 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


woke him. In a moment the dream was made plain. 
The canebrake was on fire ; it was the exploding' 
cane that sounded like guns, while Nick, fright- 
ened by the blaze and noise, was stamping furi- 
ously, and tugging at his stake-rope for freedom. 

John sprang up and ran to him. “He ’ll break 
loose and run, — fall over some cliff, — sink in the 
bog — 0 Nick! what would ever become of me if 
I lost you ? ” It was as much as he could do to 
soothe and coax his horse into quiet. The scene 
was frightful enough to John, who understood it; 
Avhat must it be to poor unreasoning Nick ? 

“We must get away from this before it comes 
any closer ; a few puffs of wind this way, and the 
blaze will scorch us. I never thought of my fire 
spreading so.” 

He saddled Nick ; but when he turned from the 
fire he did not know which way to go, remember- 
ing the frightful holes and rocks which he had 
passed as he looked for his camping-ground. 

“ It ’ll take daylight to help me find the road 
again. I ’m caught in the woods, and can’t get 
oiit. It must be a very dark night. It ’s black 
as pitch except where the blaze lights it.” 

He retreated as far as he dared, and then sat on 
his trembling horse watching the grand sight. The 


ALONE IN THE WILDS. 


95 


brake seemed one mass of flame ; some tall trees 
were blazing. Pillars of fire, pillars of smoke 
— oh, I wish our boys were here to see this ! What 
a racket that canebrake makes ! — worse than when 
Uncle Will burned ours, a great deal worse. Oh, 
how the fire ’s spreading ! — but not this way, that ’s 
the good thing about it. It ’s only the wind that 
saves us. Poor Nick ! hold still, old fellow ; you 
can’t move without maybe breaking your leg. Oh ! 
when will morning come ? What will ever stop 
this blaze ? ” 

John watched the fire closely and anxiously ; if 
it came any nearer he would have to run at all 
hazards. 

But now came something even more frightful 
than the fire. The wild animals which lived in 
the canebrake were escaping from their burning 
home. In the bright light John saw them run- 
ning; he heard their loud yells. Now he as well 
as Nick was terror-stricken. Oh ! what will be- 
come of me ? ” It was no use to climb a tree 
for refuge, even if he could leave Nick ; for his 
new enemies, the bears, panthers, wild-cats, snakes, 
could follow him there. But he must escape ; some 
of the dreadful creatures were coming directly to- 
wards him ! Nick should gallop away, even if the 


96 


CHILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


next turn carried him over a precipice. Come, 
Nick, we ’ll go ; ” but at the moment of starting he 
saw, to his great surprise and relief, that the wild 
creatures had no eyes for him, but kept straight on 
in their flight till the forest hid them. 

“ Ah ! we ’re safe so near the fire. They ’re too 
frightened to hurt us. They ’ll hide in the dark 
woods, and be ready to pounce on us. Nick, you 
and I will have to stay here till morning, whether 
or no.” 

John’s eyes and ears were so much engrossed by 
the fire and its accompanying incidents that he 
failed to see that great clouds had gathered ; light- 
ning flashed and thunder muttered. He knew 
nothing about the new danger till the storm broke 
in all its fury, — a torrent of rain, thunder that 
hushed all other sounds, lightning that blinded him 
more than the fire had. John bowed his head, and 
clung to poor Nick ; the tall trees bent and creaked 
in the tempest, and seemed ready to fall upon him. 
He had no refuge. The rain quenched the fire, 
so that when the lightning ceased it was very dark. 

‘‘ I am glad I waited till father agreed that I 
might come away from home, and that he said, ^ God 
bless you,’ ” thought John, in those dreary, waiting 
hours, remembering his safe and happy home. 


ALONE IN THE WILDS. 


97 


One of his father’s texts, too, came into his mind : 

He shall deliver thee in six troubles ; yea, in 
seven there shall no evil touch thee.” In six 
troubles and also in seven ! ” He had not under- 
stood it in the least when his father preached his 
sermon, but now he thought he did. How many 
perils he had been in, in the short time since he had 
met the first boatmen. In the desolate forest John 
Craig uttered his first truly earnest and thankful 
prayer to the One who had delivered him. 

At daybreak the rain ceased, and John was able to 
find his way to the road. The little creek in which 
he had fished was so swollen that he scarcely knew 
it. “ This rain will make hard fording to-day. But 
it put out my great fire, so I can’t complain ; though 
with everything so Avet I reckon it ’ll not be easy to 
light another, or to find that turkey I want for my 
breakfast.” 

He rode a long distance, and crossed several creeks, 
and began to feel very hungry. I started so early 
that nothing ’s stirring.” He came very near being 
homesick as he hurried on half famished. “ I reckon 
Bessie ’s slicing the pone to toast, and mother ’s 
frying bacon and eggs; or maybe Thad ’s brought 
us some bear-steak, and Alec ’s done the milking, 
and fetched up the butter from the spring-house 


98 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


— Ring ’s limping after him, wondering where I am. 
I left Alec plenty to do. But he need n’t mind ; for 
as soon as ever I begin to make money, I ’ll send 
him some right away. I ’m glad I ’ll have a chance 
to do it, but I never thought I ’d be in such a fix as 
this.” 

Things looked more -cheerful after the sun rose. 
‘^Now maybe I ’ll hear a turkey gobbling, and find 
some dry wood for a fire.” 

John saw smoke curling up from among the trees. 

There ’s a camp ! I wonder if it ’s boatmen.” 
Soon he saw two horses and a cow, hobbled, crop- 
ping grass near the road. ‘‘ It ’s a party of emi- 
grants ; boatmen don’t have cows.” And he rode 
into the woods with the smoke for a guide. 

A covered wagon stood among the trees. ‘^Mov- 
ers,” thought John. A little farther on he found 
a family group beside a fire, the man broiling ven- 
ison, the woman mixing hoecake in a wooden bowl, 
two little boys petting a dog, and drinking milk 
out of pewter cups. 

John received a cordial welcome from the stran" 
gers, and an invitation to breakfast. He thought 
food had never tasted so good before ; certainly he 
had never been so hungry. The family listened 
with interest to his tale of adventures and mishaps. 


ALONE IN THE WILLS. 


99 


“I glad we were too far off to be disturbed 
by your great fire/’ said Mr. Ford. 

Or to have the worst of your storm/’ said his 
wife. ^^We had some rain, but we made out to 
keep dry in the wagon.” 

My camp was a long way from here/’ said John. 

started off with the first streak of dawn, and 
have been riding ever since, till I was so hungry 
that I don’t know what would have become of me 
if you had n’t been so kind.” 

It ’s good to see somebody that ’s got a relish 
for his victuals,” said Mr. Ford. “ I was in hopes 
travelling would be a help that way to our folks, 
but it has n’t, so far.” 

it ’s a weary journey,” agreed his wife. 

John had noticed that his hosts had little appe- 
tite for the food which he so much enjoyed, and 
that the children, though urged by their parents, 
would not eat, but threw the savory venison to the 
dog. The whole family had the appearance of hav- 
ing been very ill. 

You ’ve come from a fever-and-ague district, 
have n’t you?” asked John. 

^^No,” said Mr. Ford; ^^we ’ve been living on a 
milk-sick farm.” 


Oh ! that ’s worse.” 


100 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

^^Yes, as bad as could be; and no way to mend 
matters except by getting up and coming away.” 

“ Did you all get it ? ” 

“ Yes, every one ; my brother-in-law died of it, 
and all my cows. A neighbor gave me this fresh 
cow just as I was coming away, thinking maybe 
to save the children’s lives.” 

I ’ve heard father say it ’s very hard to get 
w^ell of milk-sickness,” said John, “because nobody 
knows what to do for it.” 

“ No, nor what makes it. It ’s something the 
cows eat ; but what it is, or where it grows, is a big 
mystery ; I could n’t find out, for all my trying. 
I hated mighty bad to give up my place, for it 
was a very fine farm. But when the milk-sick dis- 
ease took hold, it drove us off.” 

“I ’ill afraid we ’ll never have as good a home 
again,” said Mrs. Ford. 

“ We had done a great deal to make it comfortable, 
worked very hard ; but life is worth more tlian any- 
thing else when it comes to the choosing.” 

“ Did you sell your place ? ” 

“ Sell it ? no,” said Mr. Ford. “ Who would buy 
it, with such danger on it ? ” 

“ There is a farm of rich land not many miles from 
us, where the people suffered from milk-sickness, so 


ALONE IN THE WILDS. 


101 


that the owner was willing to sell it very cheap to 
get rid of it. A stranger bought it, — a Scotchman, 
just come to Chilhowee. He said he was n’t afraid 
of milk-sickness ; he thought he could cure the land 
of it. He ’s living on it now.” 

Well, if he finds out how to do that I ’d certainly 
like to hear from him, but I ’m afraid there ’s no 
cure; he ’s just risking his life on an experiment, 
or for a bargain.” 

So father says ; he ’s afraid Mr. Campbell ’s made 
a mistake. My brother ’s gone East to finish his 
medical studies ; and father has asked him to find out 
all he can about the milk-sick disease, for the sake 
of the Campbells.” 

“ It would be a grand thing if he could learn how 
to rid the land of such a danger,” said Mrs. Ford, 
before it ruins other families.” She and her hus- 
band seemed really to be cheered by John’s account, 
and to hope that they might some time return safely 
to their abandoned farm, since Dr. Kenneth Craig 
was going to make a study of milk-sickness for the 
sake of Tennessee, For the present Mr. Ford was 
taking his family to his father’s home in Alabama. 
John kept with them for the three days their roads 
lay together. It was slow travelling ; but he enjoyed 
it, because he found he could be helpful in the milk- 


102 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

ing, in harnessing the horses, in driving the wagon 
or the cow. He lent his horse to Mr. Ford, or he 
gave the little boys turns in riding behind him on 
Nick, to their great delight. He brought the wood 
for the fire, or provided the game. He cheered the 
long evenings with stories of Chilhowee, of his father 
and brothers, of Grandfather Craig. He did not 
know there was so much to tell, and now it seemed 
as if he could never finish. 

I don’t know how we can do without you,” said 
Mrs. Ford, when it came to parting. 

“ I wish you were going the rest of the way with 
ns,” said Mr. Ford. 

wish yon were safe home at your father’s,” 
said Mrs. Ford, instead of plunging into no knowing 
how many new dangers.” 

^‘Better wish me safe on a Mississippi boat, Mrs. 
Ford. I ’m half-way there,, and I ’ve got on my 
seven-league boots ; I can’t stop nor turn back.” 

Mr. Ford filled John’s bag with corn and meal, 
insisting that his supply was much greater than was 
needed for the rest of their journey. 

‘‘Travelling ’s beginning to do you all good, I 
think,” said John ; for his friends looked brighter 
and better than when he first met them. 

“‘'You ’ve given me many a rest,” said Mr. Ford. 


ALONE IN THE WILDS. 


103 


‘^You ’ve made me think of other things besides 
my troubles,’’ said Mrs. Ford. 

Father and mother are the ones to help people 
that way; I don’t know how.” 

So they parted ; John keeping straight on in his 
road, his friends waiting till the distance hid him, 
before turning their horses southward. 

I don’t see how that boy’s mother can spare 
him,” said Mrs. Ford. 

I don’t see how she could keep him any longer. 
A boy like that must get out of the home nest, 
and make his way in the world, even if it takes 
fighting.” 


104 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


CHAPTEE IX. 

SUNDAY WITH THE INDIANS. 

John’s horse was rested and well fed, and car- 
ried him bravely, till at last they reached Buffalo 
Eiver. Mr. Webster had told him how difficult it 
was to ford, and that after crossing it he would be 
in the country of the Chickasaws. 

“A new tribe of Indians will be something worth 
seeing,” thought he. I ’m about tired of Chero- 
kees ; it seems as if I had been looking at them all 
my life.” 

He still met returning boatmen, but they no longer 
interested him ; he did not intend to be like them, 
even if he was employed on a boat. Now he was 
on the lookout for Chickasaws. Soon he passed sev- 
eral on the road, — quiet-looking men, each wrapped 
in a blanket, paying no heed to John, but going 
straight on. 

“ They see me, for all they pretend not to look ; 
they ’ve got sharper eyes than white men, and find 
out things quicker.” 


SUNDAY WITH THE INDIANS. 


105 


John thought of Ahila ; these did not please him 
as he had. But Ahila is a chief, and a learned 
man ; these are nothing but poor Indians. I reckon 
I ’ll see some braves dressed in paint and feathers 
before long.” 

He saw their little huts, made of saplings, mud- 
plastered, a few having fruit-trees around them. 
Children played on the grass before the doors. Ha ! 
the pappooses like to do just what white children 
do,” as they chased a dog round the house. When 
they saw John they stopped, and stood watching 
him till he was out of sight. 

I ’ve heard father say that very few Indian 
houses are fit to sleep in, so I reckon I ’ll camp 
alone to-night somewhere in the woods.” 

But one of John’s most cherished desires had 
been to live in an Indian wigwam ; and so; when the 
evening proved to be very rainy, making the light- 
ing of a fire or finding game almost impossible, he 
thought now was the time if ever to get a taste of 
such life. “ It ’ll be better, I ’m sure, than sitting 
on my horse in the rain all night, with nothing to 
eat except some jerked venison that Mrs. Ford gave 
me.” 

It was Saturday evening, and almost dark, when 
he came to a hut with a fire in front of it, over 


106 CHILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


which a man was bending. ^^An Indian trying to 
cook his supper in the rain ; he got more smoke 
than blaze.” 

On seeing John the man came forward, speaking 
some words in a strange tongue, and making signs, 
evidently inviting him to dismount. He helped him 
to hobble his horse, gave him a piece of venison 
from the fire, and spread a bear-skin on the floor of 
the hut for his guest’s bed, where John lay watch- 
ing his host from the open door-way. He caught 
glimpses of the Indian’s form and features in the 
fitful blaze. I don’t like his looks. What ’s he 
staying outside for ? Got some designs on Nick 
maybe. An Indian always wants a horse.” He 
was relieved when the man sat down in the shelter 
of the wall, and began to eat his supper. ‘^Been 
hunting, and not had anything to eat all day, I 
reckon ; that ’s the way an Indian lives.” 

His weapons hung on the wall, — bows, sheaths of 
arrows, a tomahawk, a musket ; when the fire bright- 
ened John saw them, and also horns and skins of 
animals. 

I reckon I ought to watch that man till he comes 
in and gets to sleep, for fear he ’ll make off with 
Nick ; a horse gives no end of anxiety, especially 
if he ’s a good one; that ’s what Uncle Will said.” 


SUNDAY WITH THE INDIANS, 107 

But tired John fell asleep while his host was still 
feasting on his venison steak. 

When he awoke the sun was streaming into the 
room, of which John was sole occupant. A deer- 
skin spread on the floor indicated where the Indian 
had slept. A few charred sticks showed where last 
night’s fire had been. 

That man was half the night eating his supper ; 
he won’t be hungry till sundown. I ’ll get no break- 
fast by staying here, so I ’d best saddle and be off ; 
I ’m glad to see Nick ’s still on hand.” 

As he was mounting his horse, the Indian suddenly 
appeared. John was surprised, not having heard or 
seen his approach. “ I wish I ’d got off,” thought 
John ; “ he ’s too stealthy to suit me.” 

He mounted ; but the Indian laid his hand on the 
bridle, and began to lead the horse towards a group 
of huts that could be seen in the distance. 

John was greatly alarmed. I ’m a prisoner ! 
He ’s going to deliver me up to his tribe — and I 
trusted him — oh, I must break away ! Where can 
I go ? I ’m in their country ! ” 

When he tried to free himself, the Indian seemed 
the more determined to hold on. He ’ll have a lot 
of warriors here in full chase if I run.” 

Even Nick seemed to have failed him, and was 


108 CEILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


obedient to his captor’s hand. He must have be- 
witched him in the night somehow, while I slept.’’ 
Brave-hearted John felt terrified and hopeless as the 
Indian hurried him on. 

When they came to the village the street was full 
of people, braves and squaws and pappooses, all look- 
ing at John. The Indian led Nick up to the eldest 
man, the chief, who held out his hand. John held 
out his, and they shook hands. 

John could not have explained why he was not at 
all frightened after that, but it was a fact. The old 
chief said Ugh,” and some in the crowd said 

Ugh,” and everybody walked down the street away 
from the houses. John went with them, though his 
Indian no longer held the bridle. He wanted to see 
what would happen next. 

They had not gone far before they came to a 
beautiful grove, in the shade of which were some 
fallen logs ; on these the Indians seated them- 
selves. The old chief stood facing them. 

Now John understood ; all the events of the morn- 
ing were clear to him. Oh what a glorious thing 
was Sunday and God’s service ! He felt as safe 
and peaceful here in this woodland temple as in 
Chilhowee Church. 

But what were they waiting for, the people all 


SUNDAY WITH THE INDIANS. 


109 


silent, the chief standing like a statue ? Then he 
saw a horseman coming towards them, not from 
the village, but from the opposite direction. As 
he dismounted, and stood beside the old chief, who 
began at once to talk to him, John thought of 
Ahila ; for the newcomer was young and bright- 
faced, and commanding in appearance. A young 
brave, a Chickasaw chief. I wish I could speak- 
his language as I can the Cherokee.” 

Then the young chief approached John, and, to 
his surprise, spoke to him in English, explaining 
that the white missionary, who taught them about 
the Great Father, would not come again till the 
next moon, but had sent him from the mission- 
school to help the chief and his people to praise 
God. They were glad to have the young white 
brave with them ; and they would now sing Coro- 
nation,” which they had learned in their own tongue. 

The Indians sang the beautiful words, and so did 
John, in English. All hail the power of Jesus’ 
name ” was his mother’s favorite hymn ; he won- 
dered if she was singing it that morning in church. 

John had a fine voice and a pleasing face. Every 
eye in that Indian congregation was fixed on him 
as he stood beside the two chiefs, singing out of the 
joy and gladness of his heart. 


110 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HABNESS. 


The service was earnest; the two leaders spoke 
and prayed in their own language, and had most 
attentive listeners. John -was expecting the last 
hymn, when the young chief, at the suggestion of 
the older one, turned to him with the request that 
the young white brave would speak a few words. 

John Craig was never willing to admit that he 
could not do everything that was expected of him, 
so great was his ambition. But here was some- 
thing quite unthought of ; yet why should n’t he 
talk to these Indians ? his father and Hugh had 
just such listeners. Ah ! he would tell them about 
their work. 

The young chief interpreted the story, which was 
listened to with rapt attention. John saw that the 
name of God-man Craig was pleasant to them, as 
if they had heard it before, and loved it; which, 
indeed, he found was the case. The fame of his 
father’s good work for Indians had spread even to 
this distant nation. 

After church many of the people expressed their 
thanks to John in their own strange fashion. He 
was their friend because he was the son of God-man 
Craig. I shall never be afraid of Indians again,” 
thought John, highly gratified at the attention he 
received. Even his host of last night, to whom he 


SUNDAY WITH THE INDIANS. 


Ill 


had taken a dislike, pleased him, now that he found 
his heart was better than his face. 

John dined with the chiefs, and found through 
the interpreter that the old one was very wise ; and 
yet he seemed pleased with John, and evidently 
liked to listen to him, which was very gratifying. 

In the afternoon the interpreter rode away to 
hold service in another village; but John stayed 
with his new friends till the next morning, learn- 
ing what he could of Indian life, about which he 
had great curiosity. 

On Monday at sunrise his journey began again. 
And at last, after many hardships and hinderances, 
the young traveller reached the banks of the Missis- 
sippi. 

How John’s heart leaped up at the sight of the 
majestic river ! The city of Memphis did not grat- 
ify him so much; for he looked forward to seeing 
larger and more famous cities, as Natchez, and es- 
pecially New Orleans. But never in his life could 
he expect to see a river greater than the Missis- 
sippi, the Father of Waters. 

A wonderful scene was spread out before John’s 
eyes as he stood on the levee. He had longed to 
see a steamboat ; and here they were, so grand, so 
commodious, making travel a luxury. And here 


112 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


were flat-boats, like those poor Jacob Webster tried 
to make his fortune in; and here were barges, and 
arks — Kentucky boats Mr. Webster called them. 

What loads they carried, — men, women, and chil- 
dren. “ Emigrants,” thought John ; that ’s the 
best way to go. They Ve got lots of horses aboard, 
so I T1 have no trouble about taking Kick. Some 
of them must be filled wdth chickens, by the crow- 
ing that ’s going on.” 

It was a noisy place, that river-front, which made 
it all the more enjoyable to John. The winding 
of the boatmen’s horns was music to him ; even the 
tin trumpets charmed him. Oh ! I must find a 
place and get started ; it looks as if it ’s just the 
kind of life I ’d like.” 

Many of the boats were ploughing up or down 
the river; others were moored, waiting for their 
time of starting. John boarded a number of these 
in search of an engagement. He found that they 
carried all sorts of cargoes, — emigrants, horses and 
cattle, ploughs, millstones, grindstones, grain, poul- 
try. I don’t want to go on a chicken-boat,” 
thought John; that would be too much like our 
own yard at home.” 

Some of the arks carried merchandise, as muslins, 
dress-goods, shawls, laces, to sell in the towns and 


SUNDAY WITH THE INDIANS. 


113 


villages which the boat would pass. They had 
counters for displaying their wares. When John 
saw this sight, so novel to him, he thought that 
above all things he should like to be employed in 
such work; and greatly to his joy he succeeded in 
forming an engagement on the boat he had chosen, 
the captain being attracted by his bright face and 
pleasing manners. 

John insisted on taking Nick along, though paying 
for him considerably reduced his wages. ‘‘But that 
does n’t matter much,” thought he ; “ for this boat ’s 
going to carry me to where I ’ll soon get bigger pay.” 

Before he started he wrote a letter to his father, as 
he had promised, telling of his success, and giving a 
sketch of his journey. His time was short ; he had 
no sooner despatched his letter than they were off. 
At last John was afloat on the Mississippi. 


114 CIIILIIOWEE BOYS IN UAENESS. 


CHAPTER X. 

NEW WAYS IN CHILHOWEE. 

Mrs. Baird and Phoebe were riding to Chilhowee 
Parsonage under Thad ’s escort. They took the road 
over Silver Bottom. 

See what a fine cornfield Mr. Craig has/’ said 
Mrs. Baird. 

“Posson ’s co’n, doin’ pow’ful well dis season, fer 
all Marse John ’s not heah to wuk it.” 

Mrs. Craig says they ’re looking for a fine har- 
vest ; they ’ve got a good field-hand.” 

‘‘Dat dey has. Marse Will done pick him out, 
an’ he knows what ’s what ’bout farmin’, sut- 
enly.” 

“ There ’s Alec down in the field now,” said 
Phoebe. 

“ Gatherin’ roastin’-ears fer dinner, I declar’ ; dat 
ar’ co’n ’s a heap forwarder dan our’n ; an’ dar ’s 
Jim Crow pickin’ at it like a good fellow.” 

Alec came running to greet his friends, with Sport 
at his heels. 


NEW WAYS IN CHILHOWEE. 


115 


‘^Have you got any more letters from John?” 
asked Mrs. Baird. 

‘^Not since he started down the river; but he ’s 
all right, I reckon. He said he was n’t looking 
for any more trouble, now he ’d got on such a 
first-rate boat.” 

Are n’t you lonesome ’way off here without 
him ? ” asked Phcebe. 

How could I be with my dog and pony ? ” 

‘^An’ dat ar’ crow,” said Thad. 

‘^Yes. Here, Jim Crow!” At the call the crow 
came hopping towards them, and ate a grain of the 
green corn out of his master’s hand. See how 
tame he is.” 

^^You ’re teaching him to be a big glutton,” said 
Phoebe. 

He ’s welcome to every grain he eats, for he ’s 
such good company.” 

“You ’ve larnt him lots o’ trick, I ’low.” 

“ Yes ; and he learns very fast. He ’ll soon know 
how to do everything but talk, I reckon.” 

“ Dar ’s one piece o’ mischief you mus’ be mighty 
keerful not to let him git inter his head, ’less you 
wan ter say good-by to him.” 

“ What ’s that ? ” asked Alec. 

“Why, carryin’ coals in his bill.” 


116 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HABNESS, 

“ Oh ! a crow could n’t do that.” 

‘^Yes, dey kin be teached to do it. I knowed a 
crow oncet dat if you ’d say to him, ^ Jim, tote 
a coal heah fer my pipe,’ he ’d make straight fer 
de chimley place, an’ come hoppin’ back, or mebbe 
flyin’, wid de coal in his bill.” 

Oh ! not a live coal, Thad ! ” said Phoebe. 

Yes, ’t wuz. ’T would be ’mos’ gone to ashes, 
prob’ly ; but it could be blowed to life again, ’nough 
to light a pipe. I seen it done myself. But de 
pore bird paid dear fer bein’ so smart. It cost 
him his life. Dey had ter shoot him fer fear he ’d 
set de house afire, droppin’ coals around.” 

What a pity ! They could n’t break him of it, 
I reckon.” 

^^No, Marse Alec. You can’t unlarn a crow. So 
you be keerful wid Jim.” 

He sha’n’t learn to carry coals and get shot 
for it, that ’s certain.” 

I wonder you don’t lose him,” said Mrs. Baird. 

‘^Some nights I think he ’s gone, for he always 
chooses a new place to sleep in, never the same 
roost twice; but he answers when I call him. I 
don’t go to bed till I know where Jim is.” 

De critter ’s safe ’nough widout somebody picks 
him off wid his gun.” 


NEW WAYS IN CHILHOWEE. 


117 


^^Well, I ’m glad Alan ’s gone. It ’s his gun 
I ’m afraid of.’’ 

^^Alan ’s coming back,” said Phoebe. 

Alec, with his bag full of roasting-ears, rode home 
with the guests. 

King, sunning himself on the porch, roused up 
at sound of the horses’ feet, and limped down to 
the gate to gaze at the visitors. “ Dat pore ole 
feller ’s los’ his bark at las’,” said Thad ; he ain’t 
got a word to say to us.” 

“All he ’s thinking of is how to get down to 
Silver; that ’s what John used to say.” 

“ He wants a drink outer Silver mighty bad, 
looks so. But he would n’t never git dar wid dat 
stiff back an’ dem shaky legs.” 

“ No ; but he ’d try to, and get lost in the woods, 
if he could once get out of the gate. And it keeps 
Bessie and me all the time thinking about keeping 
it shut, for the last thing John said was to take 
good care of King.” 

“He told me how sorry he was to leave his old 
dog behind,” said Mrs. Baird. 

“ Yes ; he ’s called King his ever since Don gave 
Sport to me.” 

“ But you like birds better than dogs,” said 
Phoebe. 


118 CHILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS, 

^^Yes, birds are my pets. And there are more 
than ever here this summer, — swallows and blue- 
birds and wrens and robins, and a great many more 
I don’t know. Father says the next time he ’s 
home long enough to spare me for a few days, he ’ll 
let me go to Willowdale to see Dr. Temple, and learn 
about birds ; that ’s the kind of holiday I ’d like.” 

Alec rode with Thad to stable the horses. 

Chucky Jack and Meg heah ! how be dat ? ” said 
Thad, as they entered the door. 

“ Uncle Will’s folks have come to dinner. Mother 
thought it would cheer Mrs. Baird to see a houseful 
of people.” 

So ’t will. Mistis jes’ fai’ly dotes on dem little 
chilluns o’ Marse Will’s an’ Mis’ Janet’s.” 

^^Well, Craig and Marjorie are both here.” 

^^Dey ’ll make mistis ’mos’ forget herself fer de 
time bein’. Pore mistis, she been mighty down in 
de mouth heah lately.” 

Alec knew that Mrs. Baird’s woe was caused 
by the fact that Alan was about to be married, 
and thought, It ’s different from our folks ; why, 
we were all as happy as could be when Ken got 
married.” 

But Mrs. Baird looked her brightest when she 
met her friends. 


NEW WAYS IN CHILUOWEE. 


119 


Ah, Mrs. Craig ! you knew how to please a 
lonely woman. Look at these little folks, Phoebe. 
They ’re for all the world like Bessie and Alec 
when we first came to Tennessee ; don’t you think 
so, Janet ? Just the same ages, and such fair, beau- 
tiful children. 0 Janet ! you ’re a happy woman.” 

She prevailed on baby Marjorie to come to her, 
and amused herself with the child, and with watch- 
ing little Craig, whom Bessie and Phoebe were 
entertaining, and, as Thad said, forgot herself while 
Mrs. Craig and Janet were busy. 

But she could not long banish her woes, and the 
dinner talk was of them. 

‘^Oh, Mr. Will!” she said, ^<if Alan had only 
chosen a wife that I could love as I do Janet, 
how happy I might be.” 

“Why can’t you hope it, Mrs. Baird ? From all 
accounts Miss Nettie is a lovely girl. Ken has 
seen her. He tells me she is very pretty.” 

“ But so young, Mr. Will. A silly little girl, 
that ’s the way I can’t help thinking of her.” 

“ Is n’t she eighteen ? If I could have seen my 
way clear, I should have married Janet before she 
was a day older than that. But you ’re asking 
too much to want a daughter-in-law such as Janet; 
the like of her is not to be found.” 


120 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS, 

Janet smiled in her pride and joy. am in- 
deed a happy woman, Mrs. Baird.*’ 

suppose I should not object on account of 
Nettie’s age ; for is n’t little Alice Murray to be 
married as young, even younger ? ” 

^^Yes, her father has given his consent; they will 
only delay till Ken and Margaret get home. Dr. 
Pratt has waited so long, you know.” 

We cannot think of our Alice as a child, though 
she is but seventeen,” said Mrs. Craig. “Why, she 
was a little woman all through the war, her mother’s 
companion and comfort.” 

“And showed more bravery and wisdom than Sister 
Emma, according to all accounts,” said Uncle Will. 

“ I remember she sometimes put me to shame,” 
said Mrs. Baird. “ I was a great coward in those 
days; Phoebe was my help then as well as now.” 

“ In what days were you not a coward ? ” thought 
Uncle Will. But he pitied Mrs. Baird, and had 
none but kind words for her. 

“ You won’t let me comfort you, ma,” said Phoebe, 
“ as Alice does her mother.” 

“Well, child, it ’s because things are past com- 
fort when I ’m so disappointed in Alan.” 

“I think you might be thankful that Alan is 
marrying so well,” said Janet. 


NEW WAYS IN CHILHOWEE. 


121 


« A rioh wife, you mean ? Well, that does please 
us all. Alan and his pa are quite carried away with 
it, and think I ’m just fretting about trifles. But 
things are so different from the way Alan always 
said they would be. This year, when he was practis- 
ing medicine at home, he often said it was only to 
get his hand in to please Dr. Thompson. But Avhen 
he was married he ’d be in partnership with the old 
doctor, and live in Eastboro in grand style. And 
so he would n’t give a thought to building a house 
for himself, as his pa and I wanted him to do ; and 
now, after being up there these six weeks, and losing 
his patients here, he writes that he ’s going to be 
married in a few days, and coming home to begin 
practice again ; and I ’m so sick of that office and 
his medicines. And all the trouble ’s to begin again; 
and here ’s his bride coming, and no place to put 
her.” 

You are in trouble, Mrs. Baird,” said Mrs. Craig. 

“ Oh, dear ! how I wish that house was built, down 
at the end of the lane ; his pa offered him as much 
ground as he wanted, but Alan would n’t listen to 
it because it was in timber ; he never helped at any 
clearing, and he won’t begin now. And his bride 
being rich seems to make it just that much worse 
to me ; for she knows what style is, and so do I, 


122 CHILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


coining from one of the first families of Virginia. 
But husband lost his ambition long ago, and stopped 
making improvements, did n’t even build Phoebe’s 
parlor.” Poor Mrs. Baird fairly broke down and 
sobbed at the thought of Phoebe’s privations as well 
as her own. 

“Never mind, ma ; I don’t care for the parlor 
so much since you and pa have agreed to let me 
make that visit to Aunt Bachel in Virginia.” 

“ Why, Phoebe, that will be ever such a pleasant 
thing for you,” said Janet. “ I ’m glad to hear 
it.” 

“ Oh ! I don’t think I can let her go, Janet. 
Why, she was never away from me a night in her 
life.” 

“Well, ma, you can go along, if you can’t part 
with me ; that ’s what I want, of all things.” 

“ Think what the child ’s asking of me ! Mrs. 
Craig, you know what a hardship it was to me to 
cross the mountains coming here. You remember 
that journey, Janet, and you, too, Mr. Will ? Why, 
I nearly lost my wits many a time from fright. 
And now Phoebe wants me to go travelling just 
for pleasure.” 

“ But not this good while, ma. I don’t want to 
go till after Alice is married. We ’ve been to- 


NEW IN CHILHOWEE. 


123 


gether ever since we came to the valley, and we^re 
just of an age. Oh ! I must stay to the wedding.’’ 

‘^To be sure you must,” said Uncle Will. ‘^And 
by that time, Mrs. Baird, you may find an easier 
way of getting out of the valley than the way you 
came in. I ’d advise you to go by Miles Hardy’s 
stage.” 

Would you really? Husband and Alan both 
say he makes a good stage-driver.” 

Excellent ! He ’s a first-rate hand at managing 
horses, and he ’s strong as an ox himself, so that 
he can pull the stage out of many a tight place 
single-handed ; and he ’s so in love with his work 
that he ’ll make himself famous in it. Eeally, he 
seems to have found his vocation.” 

^^How, ma, I think you ought to promise to go, 
after all Mr. Will says.” 

‘^It does seem as if you might be brave enough 
for such a trip,” said Mrs. Craig. Think of the 
pleasure it will give Phoebe.” 

<^And Aunt Eachel. You ought to see the let- 
ters she writes, Mrs. Craig.” 

don’t believe I can ever bring my mind to it. 
Anyhow, Alan’s wedding ’s too big a trouble to give 
me a chance to think about it now. Alan can’t 
get over it that his pa did n’t manage to buy Heigh- 


124 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


bor Hendricks’s new stone house, instead of letting 
it fall into the hands of a Yankee. Then we would 
have had the finest house in the neighborhood — 
just the thing for Nettie. It went for almost noth- 
ing, you know.” 

‘‘Yes, I recollect poor Hendricks had to sell it 
for debt,” said Uncle Will. “ He could n’t get 
enough off the farm to pay for building the house; 
and no wonder, for he had allowed the ground to get 
wofully out of order. He had managed the rolling 
land so that it was washed into deep gullies, and was 
useless to him. But see what Mr. Whitney ’s done. 
I don’t call him a Yankee, but a bright New Eng- 
lander; he has repaired the fences, and put brush 
into the gullies, and spread earth on the brush, and 
sowed grass and clover on the new ground, and re- 
stored it to usefulness, besides improving the appear- 
ance very much.” 

“Yes, it makes Alan dreadfully covetous. He ’s 
quite provoked at his pa for not. trying to get it 
when it was for sale; but nobody knew then that 
he ’d have a rich wife that could sometime pay for 
it. Alan says he reckons he could have raised the 
money himself somehow, for with such a house and 
location he ’d soon get a fine practice. But it ’s like 
spilt milk to us, not worth while to cry for it.” 


NEW WAYS IN CHILHOWEE. 


125 


indeed,’’ said Mrs. Craig; ^^and, besides, 
Alan and his father could never have done what Mr. 
Whitney did ; every one agrees that it was a great 
task.” 

Yes, tremendous work,” said Uncle Will. I 
admire his pluck and perseverance.” 

“ Of course, husband could n’t do much with only 
Thad to help, and Alan can’t turn farmer after 
studying to be a physician. He says he would have 
kept the place just as it was ; it would have done 
for a hunting-ground.” 

Then we should have lost this fine specimen of 
New England thrift and ingenuity,” said Uncle Will. 

I like Mr. Whitney’s farming ; I ’ve learned many 
a lesson from him.” 

Of course his farming ’s all very well, and I 
see you won’t call him a Yankee but we do, espe- 
cially since he ’s taken to broom-making. We think 
that rather queer ; it ’s made a good deal of talk in 
the neighborhood. We don’t think it becoming for 
a white man to raise broom-corn, and make brooms 
to sell in town and in the country wherever he can ; 
that kind of work is usually left to the negroes.” 

believe he makes excellent brooms,” said Ja- 
net. I’ve heard them much praised.” 

<<Thad ’s afraid he ’ll lose his customers,” said 


126 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

Phoebe. says it makes him feel mighty poor 

to think of it.’’ 

Thad fairly dotes on the little bit of pocket- 
money he gets from his brooms,” said Thad’s mis- 
tress. 

^‘Tell him I ’ll still buy from him,” said Mrs. 
Craig. I like his brooms ; he must make me the 
usual number this year.” 

“ And me, too, said Janet. He sha’ n’t lose, 
even if I do try a new-fangled New England broom 
once in a while.” 

Alan says he does n’t mind Yankee notions 
when he can get any good out of them, so he some- 
times makes his pa buy Mr. Whitney’s beef when 
he brings it round.” 

“ Oh ! we buy it, are glad to,” said Janet. 

“ So are we,” said Mrs. Craig. We ’ve been 
dining off one of his roasts to-day.” 

It ’s fine beef ; I’ve enjoyed it,” Mrs. Baird said. 

‘‘I call it an advance,” said Uncle Will, ^Ho have 
prime beef-cattle fatted, slaughtered, and brought to 
our doors. I ’m glad a man enterprising enough for 
the work has come among us. He ’s succeeding 
well, too. He has paid for his farm, and is making 
money off it, he tells me.” 

“Husband says that ’s the main thing, after all. 


NEW WAYS IN CHILHOWEE. 


127 


Still, peddling beef about the country is something 
we think strange of; but we lay it to his Yankeeism, 
and so let it pass.” 

But when we remember the clock peddler, we 
can see that this is a very superior man,” said Uncle 
Will. 

‘‘Oh! Mr. Judson was certainly a born Yankee. 
Alan ’s never done laughing over the way he palmed 
off a clock on poor Mrs. Hardy; he could n’t take 
husband in, though.” 

“ Why,” said Janet, “ Mrs. Hardy told me, not 
long ago, how delighted she was with that very 
clock ; she would n’t part with it for any money. 
It ’s better company than ever to her now that Miles 
is away so much with his stage.” 

“ O ma I ” said Phoebe, “ we must be sure to send 
pa to see Miles the very next time his stage comes 
in, so that he can find out all about it; for that ’s 
the way we ’re going to Virginia.” 

“How, Phoebe, I feel as if I was between two fires, 
with you coaxing me to go on that journey, and 
expecting Alan home with his bride. Do you want 
to see me quite distracted, child ? ” 

“We can’t keep the poor woman long off her 
woes,” thought Uncle Will. “ ‘ All roads lead to 
Eome.’ ” 


128 CUILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


CHAPTER XI. 

PRETTY NETTIE. 

Mrs. Baird had put her house in order, she and 
Thad had prepared a feast, and all the family were 
in holiday attire when the bridal party arrived. 

They heard the horses and Alan’s shout, then all 
hastened to the porch to see the newcomers. 

It was a large party, six horses. Alan and his 
wife came first. Mrs. Baird, unhappy and. dissatis- 
fied as she was, could not help noticing with pride 
Nettie’s handsome horse and fine saddle. Alan rode 
Hawkeye. Then came a jiack-horse, with the bride’s 
outfit. The other horses each carried double, six 
negroes, three of them children. 

Mrs. Baird and Phoebe looked at each other in dis- 
may. They had only heard that black Sol was coming. 

Alan was triumphant. In the midst of the greet- 
ings, while Nettie was being welcomed, he said. 
Look, ma ; see, pa, I ’ve got Sol for my ofiice-boy, 
and a whole nigger family besides.” 

Nettie was so amiable and so evidently happy that 


PRETTY NETTIE, 


129 


her new relations could not help being pleased with 
her ; she took her father-in-law’s heart by storm ; 
and Mrs. Baird, looking at the bright young face 
that had never a line of care on it, thought, ‘‘I ’ve 
been fretting for nothing, maybe. I don’t see how 
I can help loving her, and Phoebe looks pleased; 
I do hope we ’ll be happy after all.” Then she 
thought of the six new slaves, and took up her 
burden again. What shall we do with them ? two 
of them nothing but pickaninnies ; and we have n’t 
had a child in the house since Phoebe was little. 
Oh ! why did n’t Alan make sure of having a house 
of his own ? there is n’t even a quarter for them.” 

After tea, while Phoebe was showing Nettie her 
flower-garden, Alan said, “Now, ma, I know you ’re 
satisfied; and pa ’s just brimming over, he ’s so 
pleased. And Nettie ’s delighted with everybody 
and everything here, she ’s told me so already.” 

Alan was his parents’ idol, in spite of all the 
trouble and anxiety he gave them; now they cer- 
tainly ought to be happy, for here seemed to be 
success and fair sailing at last. Alan was jubilant, 
completely carried away with delight. 

“ I don’t see how you could have brought me a 
daughter that could please me better, Alan.” 

“ It ’s soon to say that, pa,” interposed Mrs. Baird ; 


130 CUILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

^^but, indeed, it seems as if you may be right. She 
looks lovely as can be, Alan.’’ 

‘‘ That ’s just what she is. Oh, ISTettie ’ll win her 
way, no doubt of that. And were n’t you surprised 
at all the property we brought home? It makes us 
rich from the first.” 

But I do wish we ’d known about their coming, 
and had a quarter built. Thad does n’t know where 
in the world to put them to-night.” 

(( Why, Sol ’s to sleep in my office. I said so from 
the first; just give him a shake-down there. And 
can’t the others sleep over the kitchen ? Why, yes, 
ma, that will do very well ; Thad can find another 
place easy enough, in the barn or somewhere.” 

His mother shook her head. never feel safe 
at night unless Thad ’s in the house.” 

‘^ISTow, ma, what nonsense! with pa and me both 
here, too ! I reckon it ’s more to keep old Thad safe 
than anything else. Well, then let Tip’s family go 
to the barn ; Thad’s room would n’t hold so many 
anyhow. They ’ve never been anything but field- 
hands, so the barn ’s plenty good for them.” 

hope the hay ’ll be safe. I saw him and his 
wife both smoking pipes at the kitchen-door.” 

^‘Oh, ma! don’t worry so,” interposed Mr. Baird. 
^^Of course they ’ve got sense about that.” 


PRETTY NETTIE, 


131 


^^They have n’t tobacco enough to last any time. 
It ’ll be burnt out long before they go to bed.” 

Tobacco burned us out of house and home once.” 

Now, ma, remembering old scores like that, when 
I had forgotten it,” protested Alan, ^‘and have got 
a right to be happy, too.” 

‘T don’t know how it is, Alan, but those six 
people of yours seem like a leaden weight to me, 
a burden I can’t bear.” 

“Now, ma, don’t give up so,” urged Mr. Baird, 
“just when we thought you were going to cheer 
up. Alan, why can’t you set those fellows to build- 
ing a quarter to-morrow ? ” 

“They can do it just as well as not. Tip ’s 
strong as a giant; and with Sol and Thad to help, 
the work can be done in a day, easily. And, ma, 
I don’t see why you ’re fretting about my nigs ; 
their work ’s cut and dried for them already. Sol ’s 
to do everything I want in my office and out of it ; 
take care of the fire, won’t that please you? and 
ride errands for me, the doctor gave him a horse on 
purpose. Old Thompson — my father-in-law — has 
been generous with his horses, — gave me four, all 
good ones.” 

“ You could n’t have got here with fewer,” said 
his mother. 


132 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


No ; and he said I ’d certainly need one to save 
Hawkeye if I did much riding. I told him I often 
rode all day.’’ 

Only when you go hunting, Alan.” 

‘‘Well, ma, he ’s not a man that wants to listen 
to much explanation, my new father-in-law is n’t. 
But you see I have a choice horse for my own rid- 
ing, every bit as good as Hawkeye.” 

“ Better, for you have n’t had a chance to wear 
him out with racing.” 

“Now, pa, I ’m just glad you and old Thompson 
have n’t a chance to talk together.” 

“I wanted to go to the wedding mighty bad, 
Alan. If I ’d only known the day in time, I should 
have tried to get there, far as it was.” 

“Why, I thought you could n’t possibly leave 
ma; it would have been pleasant, of course, if you 
could all have come, that ’s what Nettie’s folks said, 
but I told them it was impossible. But about the 
horses, — two are for Tip to work with. He ’s always 
been a field-hand, so of course he ’ll be very useful. 
And his wife, ma, is to be cook ; you ’ve often said 
you wished you could be free from the kitchen, so 
here ’s your chance.” 

“ But you say she ’s been a field-hand, too. What 
does she know about cooking ? ” 


PBETTY NETTIE. 


133 


“Everything, I reckon. Miss Hadassah had Jen 
in the kitchen teaching her, this long time, two or 
three weeks anyhow, ever since it was settled Nettie 
was to bring her away with her.’’ 

“ 0 Alan ! the way you talk just shows how little 
you know of the work it takes to train a cook. That 
biggest girl will likely be an apter scholar.” 

“Oh! you can’t have her, she ’s Nettie’s maid; 
she ’s been teaching her to sew, and do her hair 
and I don’t know what all.” 

“ Then, who ’s left to take care of the little ones ? ” 

“ What care do they need ? Are n’t they big 
enough to help their mother ? Did n’t Phoebe and 
I when we were four and six ? ” 

“Dr. Thompson had an old nurse on the place, 
who took care of all the pickaninnies ; I reckon 
that was the way of it, Alan,” said Mr. Baird, 
who was smoking, and enjoying the conversation 
which was so distressing to his wife. 

“ 0 Alan ! I wish you ’d left those little creatures 
there till they got bigger, or till your house was 
built.” 

“Well, now, ma, I can have that house any time. 
It was n’t worth while to build it as long as I 
thought I 'd have to be partner with Dr. Thomp- 
son. I ’m mighty glad he decided he did n’t want 


134 CHILROWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

me, not yet a while, anyhow. It gives me more hol- 
iday; and Nettie likes it better, too.’’ 

reckon the doctor thinks there ’ll be more to 
leave to her if he takes care of his practice him- 
self, instead of letting you meddle.” 

Maybe so, pa. I ’ll have to look for Nettie ; 
she ’ll wonder what ’s become of me.” 

Nettie was amiability itself. She began ‘at once 
to call Mr. and Mrs. Baird pa and ma, which pleased 
them. ‘‘The dear girl lost her mother when she 
was very young. Well, she shall find one in me,” 
was Mrs. Baird’s thought. 

The new daughter expressed a desire to be use- 
ful in the household. The first morning after her 
arrival she said, “ I hope you ’ll let me relieve 
you all I can, ma. Aunt Hadassah has taught me 
the duties of a housekeeper ; and I do wish you ’d 
let me take charge here, so that you can get a 
good rest. Alan says that ’s what you need.” 

“ Oh ! my dear, it ’s early times yet to be think- 
ing of such cares. I want you to feel free to en- 
joy yourself, be as happy as you can.” 

“I certainly shall be.” Nettie looked as if she 
could n’t help being happy. “ But won’t you let 
me give out the stores ? Auntie took so much 
pains to teach me ; I ’ve been at it more than six 


PRETTY NETTIE. 


135 


months ; she made me be very particular about 
weighing, and keeping things locked up, and taking 
care of the keys. She said she hoped I ’d go right 
on, for it ’s so easy to forget.’^ 

‘‘The way you talk reminds me of when I was 
a young thing like you, Nettie. At home, in Vir- 
ginia, we lived that way, giving out breakfast and 
dinner and supper, weighing and measuring three 
times a day, locking up the store-room and pantry, 
and keeping a sharp lookout on the smoke-house 
and spring-house.” 

“And losing the keys time after time, ma, you 
used to tell me,” said Phoebe. 

“Yes, no end of trouble that way. Or else the 
doors were broken open, — no one knew how, — and 
things stolen, the choicest always, and no way to 
trace the thief. But it ’s different here, Nettie. We 
don’t lock up. We have only Thad, and he ’s honest 
as the sun; he takes things just as he needs them, 
and knows how the stores go better than we do.” 

“ Alan said he was a treasure. But maybe things 
will be different now, with all our darkies here. 
Auntie told me to keep an eye on Jen and Till ; 
she says she never knew one that was n’t light- 
fingered.” 

“ She ’ll have to change her mind if she ever sees 


136 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


Thad,” said Phoebe, who began to think that per- 
haps she might n’t like her new sister after all. 

0 Nettie ! ” said Mrs. Baird, “ I do hope yon 
have n’t brought a thief here ; I don’t want to be- 
gin to lock up. It would seem like slavery to me 
now.” 

“ It ’s maybe caused by slavery ; but it ’s white 
folks’ work, that ’s the way Aunt Hadassah talks. 
She says she would n’t have it different, though it 
is such a bother; she thinks it ’s the only way to 
keep house. But you need n’t mind, ma, since I ’m 
here and want to do it ; you ’ll not have any more 
trouble than before.” 

Oh, dear ! ” thought Phoebe ; Nettie ’s talking 
just like Alan. Ma will have more trouble ; only 
hear those pickaninnies screaming and quarrelling 
in the dooryard.” 

And I ’ve learned to take care of the silver, too,” 
continued Nettie. ^‘Auntie let me have charge of 
ours this winter; and it ’s very valuable, especially 
the pieces that belong to grandma, and which are 
promised to me. Alan thought I ought to have 
them now ; he said he did n’t know how to come 
away without my silver, but grandma holds on to it. 
It ’s willed to me, though, so I ’m sure of it.” 

Mrs. Baird felt her poverty when she thought of 


PBETTY NETTIE. 


137 


the few spoons that constituted her stock of house- 
hold silver. 

I left my share at home in Virginia. I ’m like 
you in that, Nettie. We have n’t enough to make 
work for anybody.” 

Then, I can cut the loaf-sugar. I ’ve learned 
that perfectly. I make lumps that exactly fit the 
tongs and cups, without wasting, too. I like to cut 
it since I ’ve learned to do it so well. Auntie told 
me not to trust a loaf of sugar to a servant; she 
never does. I brought my little hammer and tongs ; 
and if you don’t even let me do as much as that, 
I shall have to write to auntie that I ’m nothing 
but a drone.” 

But Nettie soon found her time occupied with 
social pleasures. The people in the valley were dis- 
posed to be friendly. She received visits and re- 
turned them. She was pleased to become acquainted 
with the Craigs, the Murrays, the Logans, and many 
others of whom she had often heard. She had been 
specially interested in the story of Nacoochee ; now 
she saw her in her home, beautiful as she had 
imagined her, and evidently very happy. 

Major Logan could n’t be prouder of his wife if 
she was a queen instead of an Indian,” said Nettie, 
after visiting the Logans. She ’s a beauty.” 


138 CIIILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

“ Why should n’t he be proud of her ? they say 
she ’s of royal blood. But I reckon she ’s not more 
than quarter Indian. She ’s rich, oh, tremendously 
rich ! that must go a long way with the major.” 

“I don’t believe he married her for her money; 
he does n’t look like that kind of a man. You 
did n’t choose me for my money. If you did, please 
don’t ever let pa know it.” Nettie laughed. ^‘1 
like their house; it ’s the prettiest I ’ve seen in 
Chilhowee. Why can’t we build one like it ? ” 

^^It does well enough, but wait till you ’ve seen 
Mr. Whitney’s, our Yankee neighbor. I ’ll take 
you riding there to-morrow to order some beef or a 
broom, if you say so ; then you can see his hand- 
some stone house and fine lawn ; you ’ll want the 
place bad enough, but you can’t get it. A few 
years ago pa could have bought it cheap, if he ’d 
had his wits about him.” 

I ’m not going to covet anybody’s property, 
when we can build to suit ourselves as soon as you 
get time to attend to it.” 

Yes, there ’s no hurry ; we ’ve got lots of 
visits to make, and the weather could n’t be pleas- 
anter for riding. And there ’s my practice ; I must 
soon begin to devote myself to that. I want to 
have a firm hold here before Ken Craig gets home.” 


PRETTY NETTIE. 


139 


‘‘ I do hope you will, — keep ahead of Dr. Craig, 
of all things. I hn afraid I can’t be friendly to 
him if he turns out to be your rival.” 

Kettie knew how to enjoy herself, and make Alan 
waste his time. He had little chance to work up 
a practice, for she expected him to be always at 
her beck and call. And yet she wants me to get 
ahead of Dr. Ken; well, I can’t help it if she hin- 
ders.” Alan enjoyed play as much as Nettie did. 

When they were not riding or visiting, she made 
him practise archery Or play ball ; if by any chance 
he was hindered, she coaxed Phoebe or Mr. Baird 
to play with her, or, failing them, she tossed her 
ball with Tray, or even black Till. 

“Nettie is more ornamental than useful, ma,” 
said Phoebe one day, as she beat eggs for a custard, 
and watched her new sister at play in the garden 
with her dog and maid. 

“ Yes, is n’t she pretty ? But she never lifts a 
finger to help in any way, after all that grand pa- 
laver, too, about relieving me; why, I can safely 
say I never was so busy in my life as since she ’s 
been here ; and I hate so to see you working for 
her when you ought to be having a pleasant time 
as well as she.” 

“ I shall have, ma, before long. I ’m going to 
Virginia.” 


140 CHILUOWEE BOYS IN H ABN ESS. 

And leave me in all this trouble ! 0 Phoebe ! ” 

No ; I 11 take you along, ina.” 

0 Phoebe ! if I go, I 11 feel as if I ’m being 
driven away by Alan; for things would all come 
right if it was n’t for his foolishness in not build- 
ing his house.” 

He does n’t see the need of the house. It ’s 
just like a fine visit to him and Nettie, with you 
slaving for them day after day, and making sure 
that everything goes right.” 

^‘And your pa .’s so delighted with Nettie that 
he ’d sooner they ’d stay than build ; he and Alan 
don’t think there ’s a bit of hurry now since the 
office and quarter are done. Well, Nettie certainly 
would have no comfort in Jen if she had to depend 
on her for a cook ; she ’ll never make one. I ’d 
never let her into my kitchen again if I could 
help it.” 

1 wish you ’d make it a rule, ma, and stick to 
it. I can’t eat anything she has a hand in, and 
neither can you, and she wastes and spoils no end 
of dishes; if her cooking went on the table, Alan 
would soon make an outcry.” 

She ’s really no help ; and, besides, she ’s light- 
fingered, as Nettie said. Why, I had to hide those 
eggs that I wanted for the custard, or she ’d have 


PRETTY NETTIE. 


141 


given them to the children without leave. She 
always doing such things.” 

Thad says she and Till skim the cream off the 
pans in the spring-house, and drink it. Soon we 11 
have no butter.” 

Well, Phoebe, I donl know what in the world 
to do.” 

You know the fried chicken and biscuit fell short 
this morning. Well, Jen fed them to the children; 
sneaked a panful of each out of the kitchen into 
the yard, instead of' bringing them to the table. I 
saw the little darkies running about with their 
hands full ; even Till took her share. I ’ve had so 
much to do, I forgot to tell you before.” 

It does n’t do me any good to know it. Why, 
Phoebe, I made every one of those biscuit myself; 
and you fried the chicken, did n’t you ? Oh ! Jen ’s 
worse than nobody to have about.” 

a We ’re really cooking for her whole family, all 
Nettie’s negroes. For she leaves her plate full on 
purpose for Till, and Alan’s is for Sol, and pa’s is 
left for somebody else ; he says it ’s Virginia fashion, 
and he ’s glad to keep it up.” 

^AVell, so it is, Phoebe, and I like it, of course; 
but when it comes to the mistress and her daugh- 
ter doing all the cooking, it ’s hard to follow.” 


142 CEILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS, 


CHAPTER XIL 

THE PARSON TAKEN BY SURPRISE. 

It was only Phoebe’s hope of escaping to Virginia 
that enabled her to bear her present trials with 
equanimity. The subject distressed her mother, so 
she could not speak of it freely. But she was 
making her plans. She was to have a new dress 
for Alice Murray’s wedding, and now she coaxed 
her mother to buy one for herself also. ‘^We ’ll 
be that much nearer ready to start on our jour- 
ney,” thought she. 

Nettie took great interest in the new dresses, 
and offered to help make them. ’m very fond 

of sewing on a rainy day,” she said. Auntie al- 
ways made me do my mending then, but since 
I ’ve got everything new I don’t even have stock- 
ings to darn. I ’ll give you a good lift on that 
work the very next time it rains.” 

^‘What if it does n’t rain between now and the 
wedding-day ? ” thought Phoebe. We must have 
the dresses all the same. Nettie ’s a poor depend- 
ence. I ’ll not wait for her.” 


THE PARSON TAKEN BY SURPRISE. 143 

• 

But the next day proved rainy. Nettie could not 
enjoy any of her usual amusements, and was glad to 
sew ; some of her own dresses afforded good hints as 
to style, and the work soon had a fair start. We ’ve 
happened on Nettie’s good side at last,” thought 
Mrs. Baird, as she saw how she enjoyed her self- 
imposed task. Since she likes to sew, there ’s some 
hope that she ’ll put her people’s clothes in order.” 

One of Mrs. Baird’s anxieties had been about the 
clothing of Nettie’s negroes. Some of them were 
poorly clad when they came, and were now in rags, 
the children especially. She soon began to talk on 
the subject, but Nettie’s answers were discouraging. 

“ I never helped auntie with such work ; she knew 
I could n’t bear to sew rough stuff, or anything that 
was n’t pretty, and so she always excused me. Oh ! 
of course she had a great deal to do, for pa has lots 
of servants ; but one of the women in the house is a 
good sewer, and always helped. Auntie had to do 
the cutting out, though. She said I ought to learn 
to cut out, but I really had n’t time.” 

^^And how do you intend to manage? Jen and 
the children need clothes now.” 

Do they ? Oh ! well, they ’re regular tear-coats. 
Jen always was. Her clothes were good enough 
when she came, I ’m sure ; and it ’s her own fault if 


144 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN nABNESS. 


she did n’t take care of them. But she ’s been a 
field-hand, you know ; and such creatures really don’t 
care how they ’re dressed. Of course, when she 
needs anything she shall have it, but auntie and 
grandma have taught me not to be wasteful.” 

She has nothing to go to church in, she tells me. 
Don’t you think she ’d feel more ambitious if she 
had a Sunday dress ? ” 

“ What use has she for one ? she ought n’t to leave 
those children while they ’re so little, even to go to 
church. When they get bigger I ’ll give her one of 
my dresses, and she ’ll feel fixed up. I can’t now, of 
course, for I have n’t brought any but brand new 
ones.” 

Keeping the servants in clothes is a great task, I 
know,” said Mrs. Baird. I remember how it was at 
home in Virginia ; there was always a pile of shirts 
on hand, or frocks, or aprons ; we thought it was 
holiday when we had only stockings to knit. I 
would n’t be willing to undertake such a burden 
again. I ’m glad I have only Thad. Of course he 
can always have a Sunday suit out of an old one 
of his master’s.” 

^^To be sure,” agreed Nettie. “Pa always gave 
his coats to Sol and Pete before they were half worn 
out, and now Alan’s will do for Sol. Since I ’ve 


THE PARSON TAKEN BY SURPRISE. 145 


taken Till for my maid, of course I try to keep her 
neat; but I don’t believe I ’ll succeed, for she ’s a 
caution, as big a tear-coat as her mother. I ’ve be- 
gun to teach her to sew ; she ’s got to mend her 
own clothes. It ’s not so much matter about the 
young ones ; they ’re just as happy ragged as whole, 
grandma used to say. Auntie says a coffee-sack ’s 
the best thing to dress them in, it never wears out.” 

Mrs. Baird did not pursue the subject. She av anted 
to call hTettie’s attention to Tip’s needs ; but it seemed 
useless, though the matter troubled her greatly. 

Now Kenneth and Margaret returned from the 
East, and took up their abode in Mrs. Pratt’s house 
on the mountain-side, Avhere Dr. Craig expected to 
practise his profession, much to his mother-in-law’s 
satisfaction. She had been making a long visit to 
Lucy at Leighton Hall, but had noAv come home, 
escorted by her son Ned, to welcome them, and also 
to attend her son George’s wedding. Eor at last-the 
time had come when Dr. Pratt could claim his bride, 
Alice Murray, whom he had loved and waited for 
since her early childhood. 

The marriage gave almost as much delight to 
Parson Craig’s household as to those of the bride and 
groom, for Alice had been loved as a daughter by her 
uncle’s family. It was a surprise to many that 


14G CniLBOWEE BOYS IN HAHN ESS. 


Hugh Craig did not attend the wedding, for Alice 
had always been his favorite cousin. But it was 
understood that his duties at his Indian mission 
prevented his coming. 

John Craig also was absent, being far away in 
Mississippi. But the family had good news from 
him. He had reached Natchez safely, and, finding 
employment there, was contented to stay for the 
present instead of venturing farther down the river. 

^^All our brides must see Leighton,’^ said Mrs. 
Pratt, on parting with her new daughter-in-law. 

Leigh calls it Paradise, since Lucy is there. May 
you be as happy as she, dear Alice, or as Margaret. 
I cannot wish you more.’^ 

“ I wish my Alice to be the happiest of the happy,” 
said the bridegroom. George Pratt was much older 
than his bride; but the difference being on the right 
side made it very satisfactory, especially to her 
mother, who said, with confidence, George, I know 
you will take care of Alice.” 

But who will take care of you, mother ? that ’s 
what I hn thinking of.” Young as this only daughter 
was, she had long been a “ little mother ” in her 
home. 

Don’t think about that, dear ; I hn sending you 
away to be happy.” Mrs. Murray, timid but un- 


THE PABSON TAKEN BY SUBPRISE. 147 

selfish, had schooled herself to be brave in the part- 
ing. 

Think how near Willowdale is,’’ said the father ; 
after a few happy weeks, we shall be happier still 
to see yon there.” 

Interested as the Craigs were in the wedding and 
in Kenneth’s return, there was something that pleased 
the parson and his wife even more. Don had come 
home to preach his first sermon. 

Chilhowee Church had not an empty seat that 
Sunday. All his father’s people loved Don, and 
listened with delighted eagerness as he preached 
from the text, “ They shall ask the way to Zion with 
their faces thitherward, saying. Come.” 

Don’s first words showed how he loved the message 
which it was now his blessed privilege to proclaim. 

He told his hearers how plain the path to Zion 
was ; one needed only to turn the face thitherward 
to se6 the marvellous light ; the Lamb was the light 
thereof. And in all the ages since the prophet’s day, 
voices had been saying, ^^Come,” till the glorious 
day of grace when the Redeemer himself stood in 
the midst of the people and cried, Come unto me ; ” 
and still would sound the loving call till the trium- 
phant day when Christ again would proclaim, Come, 
ye blessed of my Father.” 


148 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


Many thanked the young preacher at the close of 
church, but his father’s look of approval pleased 
him most. ^^My son, my dear son, you did well.” 
The parson was too much overcome with joy to say 
more. 

After a brief stay at home, Don intended to start 
on that long journey to which he had delighted to 
look forward even in his boyhooa, when Buncombe 
should carry him to visit Grandfather Craig and 
Leigh at Leighton, and many other spots which he 
had a longing to see. His father thought it a wise 
thing to do before he settled down to his life-work. 

The parson expressed his views as he walked with 
Don in the garden. I wish Hugh had wanted 
something of the sort. To have wide interests, to 
see much, broadens the mind, increases the capacity 
for work; already I see it in Kenneth. John, poor 
boy, was determined to give himself the chance at 
all hazards, and in the way which at first glance did 
not seem the wisest. But John will do well. I 
have no doubt of that. He will come out right in 
the end. 

^^Kow, Hugh has no thought except for his home 
and his Indian mission-work ; they absorb his in- 
terest, he gives all his love to them; and that is 
well if he does n’t get too much into a groove, and 


THE PARSON TAKEN BY SURPRISE. 149 


grow narrow. I was disappointed that he did not 
come home at this time, a wedding is a grand occa- 
sion for a family gathering ; and he misses the oppor- 
tunity of seeing Ken on his first return after such 
a long absence ; and you just going, and Hugh did 
not hear your first sermon ! I wonder at his being 
willing to lose so much pleasure and profit. I fear 
he has made an uncalled-for sacrifice. To have a 
morbid sense of duty is not well. Surely he could 
have arranged matters so as to ride home, if only 
for a day.” 

Don could not bear to hear Hugh criticised, even 
in such a loving way. He had been much disap- 
pointed at his absence ; but he understood the reason 
of it, and was surprised that his father did not. He 
felt that he must speak a word to clear his brother ; 
it would now be no betrayal of confidence. 

Hugh did n’t want to come to Alice’s wedding, 
father. He said as much in a letter to me when the 
time was first set. I knew it was because — Oh ! 
don’t you know that ’s why — why he was so glad to 
go away ? ” 

Why, my son, you don’t mean to say that he ” — 

^^Yes, he loved Alice. He never said more than 
five words to me about it ; but I understood because 
I knew before, oh! for a long time.” 


150 CIIILnOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


Well ! well ! and I never thought of it. Why, 
our sweet Alice has been like another sister to you 
boys ; a first cousin is very near and dear, and you 
had only little Bess. But I never could approve the 
marriage of first cousins.’^ 

Hugh knew it, and he does n’t, either. Think- 
ing that way I believe kept him from realizing how 
much he cared for Alice, till all at once he heard she 
was to marry Dr. Pratt. He said after that he 
was glad to think he would soon have work in the 
Indian country.” 

Poor dear boy ! And yet I don’t think Alice 
cared for him any more than for her other cousins.” 

^^Ho, she did not; and she did n’t know he felt 
differently. He was glad, he wants her never to 
know. She has no heart except for Dr. George. I 
could n’t help telling you, father, because I want you 
to understand Hugh.” 

The parson meditated long after Don left him. 
Here had been two of his sons, Hugh and John, 
fighting battles under his roof, and he not dreaming 
of it. How gladly he would have sympathized and 
helped. Why had they not come to him ? And he 
must hear their stories through Don, who knew with- 
out being told. 

Parson Craig had a soul above envy, or he might 


THE PARSON TAKEN BY SURPRISE, 151 

have envied his son Donald, who could so readily 
win love and confidence, but instead he loved him all 
the more for the many talents with which he had 
been blessed. 

‘‘I must take the first opportunity to ride to see 
Hugh. He has been brave where I thought other- 
wise. Poor Hugh ! Dear, happy Alice ! He has 
taken the best course for happiness, working for 
others. In God’s service, a higher love, which can- 
not be taken away, can make amends for the lesser 
hopeless one.” 

Still another event occurred at this time which in 
some degree affected all the family, but more espe- 
cially Alec and Bessie. It was the death of their 
pet dog, Bing. They had never known their home 
without their faithful old dog. 

Alec wrote to John about it : — 

I know you ’ll be sorry when I tell you Bing ’s 
drowned. He got out of the gate somehow. When 
we missed him, of course I jumped on Snip, and rode 
down to Silver as fast as I could. And there was 
Jabez, our new field-hand, just fording the creek 
with poor drowned Bing; he ’d been working in 
the bottom, and had seen Bing floating in the water. 

We did n’t know what in the world to do, but 
Thad came along, and you just ought to have heard 


152 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HABNESS. 


how he talked about King; he was as sorry as if 
King had been somebody instead of only a dog. 
He told the brave things he had done. Thad can 
remember very far back. 

^^He says he thinks this is the way it happened. 
‘Pore King mus’ ^a’ limped all de way through de 
cedars fer to git a drink outer Silver; an’ when 
he bent his head down to lap de water he wuz too 
stiff wid rheum atiz to straighten up ag’in, an’ he 
jes’ mus’ ’a’ tumbled ober inter de water off de 
bank head fo’most. Den he could n’t he’p but 
drown. Dat ’s how it mus’ ’a’ been. Dere wuz no 
swim lef’ in him; but arter all he got dat drink 
he ’d been hankerin’ fer.’ 

“ Jabez brought his spade ; and they dug a deep 
hole on Silver Creek bank, under the big willow, 
just this side of the ford, where King used to wait 
for father. 

“ When I came home without King, Bess cried, and 
mother and father and Don told us stories about 
him all dinner-time. He helped Hugh bring his 
sheep over the mountains. He saved us from the 
wolves the very first night we slept in Chilhowee 
Parsonage. Don says he was fighting all the time 
in his young days ; nobody knows how old he was. 

“ King has a tombstone. I wish you could see it. 


THE PARSON TAKEN BT SURPRISE. 153 


I found a smooth board, and Thad jammed it down 
till it was very firm. This is what I wrote on it : — 

BRAVE RING. 

FROM NORTH CAROLINA. 

A GREAT FIGHTER. 

VERY AGED. 

HE FOUGHT THE WOLVES. 

HE SAVED OUR LIVES. 

HE DID ALL HE COULD. 

I w^rote it with some real Indian paint of Thad’s ; 
Pukpuggee gave it to him. Bess feels better since 
I took her down to Silver to see King’s tombstone. 
It ’s just where everybody that crosses the ford can 
read it. 

^‘Bess says I ought to write to Hugh next, be- 
cause he could n’t come to Alice’s wedding. I 
have n’t time now, but I reckon I ’ll write to him 
when Snip dies. He ’s getting stiff, too. Father 
says he ’s our very oldest horse. 

I ’ve lost Jim Crow, just since Alan Baird came 
home, and I ’m mighty sorry. He was learning 
something new all the time. Alan says he does n’t 
know anything about it, but I reckon it was his gun 
took poor Jim off. 

Alan ’s trying to get all the patients he can 
since Ken ’s come home and hung out his shingle. 


154 CHILE OWEE BOYS IN HAHN ESS. 


But we all know Ken ’ll get ahead. You ought 
to see Dr. Ken since he came home ; he looks 
splendid, tip-top, wears city-made clothes ; takes the 
shine off Dr. Alan, I tell you. He brought a fine 
suit for Don, and he looks grander than anybody. 

They are all glad you like it in Natchez, but 
I wish you ’d gone on down the river till you came 
to the alligators. You said you would n’t stop 
till you saw some. 

Oh ! I almost forgot to tell you ; Ken says Mr. 
Ford ’ll have to be very careful if he goes back 
to that milk-sick farm, for nobody can find out 
what it is the cows eat that makes them sick. 
But if he thinks they ’re getting it, he ought to 
feed them on plenty of corn. But the safest way 
is to do like Mr. Campbell ; he never lets his 
cows feed in any pasture where there are weeds, 
but sows clover for them, and they don’t get sick. 
He ’s clearing his farm as fast as he can ; and he 
says the ground ’ll soon all be safe and healthy. 
But Janet says Mr. Campbell ’s a canny Scotch- 
man ; not many people are willing to go to so 
much trouble. ^It takes eternal vigilance to cure a 
milk-sick farm,’ that ’s just what Ken said.” 


MBS. BAIBD’S DESPERATE RESOLVE, 155 


CHAPTER XIII. 

MRS. BAIRd’s desperate RESOLVE. 

Phcebe was almost in despair about ever getting 
to Virginia. Her mother refused to talk or think 
of it, and Phoebe knew she could Jiot go alone. 

I feel as if I ^d have to stay at home, Phoebe, if 
it was only to clothe Nettie’s people. And it will 
take spinning and weaving. Think of the task ! ” 

I know. Old clothes would n’t last any time, 
even if we had them to give.” 

^^No; Jen ’s torn the dress I gave her till I 
can’t bear to see her in it. And anything I give 
Tip ’s just stolen from Thad. Your pa’s old clothes 
don’t more than do for him.” 

The matter worried Mrs. Baird greatly ; and, as 
time went on, things of course grew worse ; the 
clothes became more ragged each day. 

I cannot bear to live with scarecrows about 
me,” she said to Alan. I think every one of 
your new people ought to have a dress fit to go 
to church in.” 


156 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


Oh, well, ma ! that ’s for Nettie to settle. She 
knows what they ^^e been used to.’^ 

Mrs. Baird could not refrain from speaking on 
the subject again to Nettie, but with apparently no 
effect. The indifference of the young mistress 
provoked her. 

But Alan and Nettie consulted together, and set- 
tled on a plan. One day Alan startled his mother 
with the announcement that Miss Hadassah was 
coming to make them a visit. 

0 Alan, as if I had n’t trouble enough without 
such a visitor ! Why does n’t she wait till you have 
a house of your own ? ” 

She ’s coming to see about the people’s clothes, 
ma. They can’t wait forever for them, can they ? 
We thought you wanted them to have new ones in a 
hurry. Nettie could n’t bear to see you so worried 
about it. She thought the quickest way to get over 
the trouble was to write to her aunt. She ’s coming 
with her sewing-woman, and they ’ll soon get things 
to rights.” 

Alan ! you invited her to come to my house — 
without consulting me ! Phoebe, could you have 
believed such a thing ? ” 

Mrs. Baird’s temper was seldom roused ; but her 
children saw that she was angry now. 


MBS. BAIBD^S DESPERATE RESOLVE. 157 

Why, ma!’’ said Alan, “she ’s Nettie’s aunt. 
We did n’t think you could object.” 

“ If it was even her mother or father I should have 
been consulted. It ’s my house, not yours, Alan.” 

“ Now, ma, when you see Aunt Hadassah you 
won’t mind her any more than you would a fly. I 
don’t. It ’s nothing like as bad as if it was a 
mother-in-law coming. I ’m thankful I have n’t 
any.” 

“ When is she coming ? ” 

“ She has n’t set the day ; as soon as she can, 
while the good weather lasts, that ’s how she 
writes.” 

“ What room have you and Nettie decided to give 
her ? ” 

“ Why, ma, we could n’t settle that ; it ’s your 
house. But could n’t Phoebe” — 

“ Go to the loft ? That ’s the only vacant room, 
you know.” 

“ Oh, well ! I know she could n’t go there, and nei- 
ther could Miss Hadassah ; but she would n’t mind 
a bit sharing Phoebe’s room, and the sewing-woman 
could have the loft.” 

His mother’s face had a cold, almost indifferent 
look, and her voice and words were like her face. 

“ You can arrange to suit yourself. I shall not be 


158 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


here, nor Phoebe. We shall start for Virginia before 
Miss Hadassah arrives.’’ 

“ 0 ma ! are you really going ? ” cried Phoebe. 

Then I ’m glad Miss Hadassah ’s coining, for you 
never would promise before.” 

^^And it is Alan crowding me out of m^'' own 
home, now, Phoebe.” 

Mrs. Baird’s sudden determination to visit Vir- 
ginia came like a thunderbolt to her husband and 
son, who both tried to dissuade her. 

Alan w^as specially disturbed when he found she 
was resolved to take Thad with her. 

Oh, ma ! it ’s bad enougli to think of missing you, 
when we never dreamed of such a thing. But Thad 
to be away, too ! Why, you always said the place 
could n’t spare him.” 

It can spare him better than I can, Alan. I 
must have somebody to protect me on the road.” 

“ It ’s a pity pa can’t go, then.” 

^^I ’d like the trip well enough, you know that, 
Alan ; but when ma ’s so worried we ’ll have to let 
her have her own way, and she ’s bent on my staying 
here to look after things.” 

Mr. Baird had never been a favorite in his wife’s 
family ; and her sister had failed to include him in 
her invitation, while pressing Mrs. Baird and Phoebe 


MBS. BAIBD^S DESPEEATE RESOLVE. 159 

to visit her. But he did not feel called on to allude 
to this phase of the matter when he had more 
plausible excuses, “ I reckon we ’ll have to be think- 
ing about putting up that house while she ’s away, 
Alan.” 

0 husband ! please do more than think about it ; 
for I ’m not coming back till the house is built, 
remember that.” 

Alan, it ’s a big pity for ma to go off and leave 
us this way, when she does n’t half want to. I 
reckon, if we ’d stir round a little, we might soon 
make a start on that work. Friends would help 
quick enough, if they knew it was to keep ma from 
taking that dreadful journey. Why, ma, such travel- 
ling will frighten you half to death, and you won’t 
have me along, either.” 

Mrs. Baird was sewing; she had left the kitchen 
to Jen, and Nettie had been obliged to go thither to 
investigate matters, for it appeared that dinner would 
never be served. It was evident to all the family 
that a new order of things had begun. Alan already 
saw how important it was that his mother should 
remain at home. 

Pa ’s right about the dangers you and Phoebe ’ll 
be in, ma,” he said. don’t believe either of you 
will go a step when it comes to starting. Miles Hardy 


160 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

can’t persuade his mother to travel in his stage, 
he ’s told her such fearful tales about the road.” 

We ’re going, Alan, so you need n’t try to frighten 
us,” said Phoebe, who felt happier than she had in 
a long time. 

Yes, Alan, the letter ’s started to tell your Aunt 
Eachel to expect us,” said his mother. 

‘‘Well, you have been quick ! That ’s what took 
Thad to the settlement post-haste, instead of going 
to the mill. I wondered at Nettie’s saying Sol 
must go for the meal, when he did n’t half know 
the way, and I had something else for him to do, 
too. Nettie says she feels as if she was in a heap 
of trouble when she thinks about your going away 
so suddenly.” 

“She ’ll not have time to fret long,” said Mrs. 
Baird, “since her aunt ’s coming so soon.” 

“ She ’s afraid Aunt Hadassah ’ll be hurt, because 
it looks as if you ’re running away from her.” 

Mrs. Baird smiled grimly, and took quick stitches. 
“ You can explain matters to Miss Hadassah, Alan.” 

“Now, ma, it ’s a new thing for you to like to 
leave people in the lurch. Nettie fairly cried this 
morning at the thought of having Jen on her hands. 
She feels as if she was only a visitor here, you 
know. And she was enjoying herself so much.” 


MRS. BAIRD'S DESPERATE RESOLVE. 161 

I ’m glad to know it. Phoebe and I have done 
our best to make it pleasant for her. I wanted her 
to be happy.’^ 

^^Miss Hadassah can finish teaching Jen how to 
cook/’ said Phoebe. Then Nettie ’ll be happy 
again, if that ’s all she has to cry about. She says 
her aunt told her Jen would make a capital cook.” 

You ’re just glad I ’m in a scrape, Phoebe, I can 
see it in your eyes. Ma, if we ’d had any idea that 
you ’d go off instead of staying to entertain Miss Ha- 
dassah, and tote Thad off, too, Nettie says she would 
n’t have asked her to come one step, for she ’ll be 
really mortified if things don’t go straight. When 
in the world is that dinner coming? I ’m getting 
ravenous. And Nettie ’s bothering over it all this 
time. We wanted to go a long ride this afternoon. 
That comes of sending Sol to mill when he was sure 
he ’d lose his way.” 

Oh ! he ’s got home with the meal,” said Phoebe, 
who sat at a window which commanded a view of 
the kitchen; “for I saw Jen throw a panful of burnt 
bread to the chickens. Nettie ’s finding out what a 
bother her cook is.” 

“Nettie ’s not concerning herself in the matter,” 
said Mr. Baird, who sat smoking at the front win- 
dow. “ See her.” 


162 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


There in the garden was his pretty daughter-in- 
law, tossing her ball with Tray, as serene and grace- 
ful as usual. 

^^Now Jen ’s burning something else, by the way 
the smoke ’s coming out of the kitchen-door. Don’t 
you smell burned bones ? ” 

Oh, yes, Phoebe ! ” Mrs. Baird shook her head, 
but went on with her sewing in spite of her distress ; 
evidently she had surrendered the kitchen to her 
daughter-in-law. 

Alan began to dread his fate. He watched the 
kitchen-door. “ There goes our dinner ! 0 ma, 
that ’s too bad ! ” as Jen ran out, carrying a pan of 
black meat, the fat blazing dangerously. “ She is 
throwing our roast pork to the chickens.” 

‘^It ’s burned to a crisp,” said Phoebe. 

It ’s well she got rid of it before she set the 
place on fire.” Mrs. Baird held on to her work, as 
if she did not know her family was hungry. 

^^Ma and Phoebe must have made a plan about 
this, — leaving things to Nettie while they get ready 
for their trip,” thought Alan. had no idea ma 
could be angry so long about Miss Hadassah, ever 
since yesterday. But she ’ll get over it when she 
sees how dreadful things are. It ’s Phoebe keeping 
her up to it.” 


MRS. BAIRD'S DESPERATE RESOLVE. 163 

I ’m sorry if you ^re hungry, pa,” said Mrs. 
Baird. seems as if dinner ^s going to be very 

late; but we must stick to this sewing, since the 
stage starts so soon. It ’s almost the first hour I We 
had my needle in my hand since Nettie came.” 

Oh ! never mind about me, ma ; I hn getting along 
well enough ; ” and Mr. Baird refilled his pipe. Jen 
must learn sometime ; she ’d better begin to-day than 
later.” 

Ma, I don’t see how you can go and leave pa to 
be so uncomfortable ; you know he can’t abide poor 
cooking.” 

^^Your ma and Thad have spoiled me about that, 
Alan, making such dainty dishes, and Phoebe was 
learning. But don’t bother poor ma. If she ’s keen 
for going, we ’ll have to help her and not hinder.” 

^^Now, ma, would n’t you stay if I got that house 
up before Miss Hadassah comes ? There is n’t time 
to send her word to wait, or I ’d certainly do it. 
But Thad and Tip and Sol — yes, I ’d spare Sol — 
could set right to work and clear the ground. The 
trees stand thick, but such good choppers could soon 
make room enough for the house. And pa and I 
could ride round and get the neighbors for a log- 
rolling; they ’d drop everything they were at to 
keep you here ; did n’t you say so, pa ? Why, 


164 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


ma, the house would be done before you knew 
it. Nettie wants to wait till we can get workmen 
from Maryville to build something pretty like 
Major Logan’s, but she ’s willing to give that up 
to please you. ^Anything to please ma,’ she said 
this morning.” 

Phoebe trembled as she waited for her mother’s 
answer. <^Alan ’s determined to get his own way,” 
thought she ; “ but oh, I do hope ma won’t give up 
to him now, for she ’ll just die if she stays here 
much longer.” 

Mrs. Baird spoke with unusual calmness and 
decision. 

I ’ve made up my mind to go, Alan. I did n’t 
believe I could ever be willing to leave home, and 
take a long, troublesome journey, even to see my 
sister, and the old place in Virginia; but now I 
want to go. You know the reason why. You can 
begin on your house as soon as you choose, and I 
hope you ’ll finish it to suit Nettie ; but you can’t 
keep me, and you can’t have Thad to help, for 
Phcebe and I need him.” 

Mr. Baird, as he listened, thought, ^<We ’d be 
different folks if ma always had spunk enough to 
lay down the law that way ; I allow we ’d hold our 
heads up higher.” 


MRS, BAIRD'S DESPERATE RESOLVE. 165 

Mrs. Baird was pleased to find that all her friends 
approved her plan. Mrs. Craig and Janet helped 
her with her sewing; but her greatest encourage- 
ment came from Mrs. Pratt. 

Don’t be afraid of the journey, Mrs. Baird,” 
said she. “ You and Phoebe will probably find real 
enjoyment in it. Think what travellers my daugh- 
ters and I have been in the last few years ; very 
long journeys we ’ve taken, you know, and we have 
never met with an accident in any of them.” 

I do hope we shall have as good fortune. But 
I ’m fearful of the stage, never having tried it.” 

think you ’ll find it safer and easier than 
horseback in many respects. For myself, I prefer 
my horse, I am so accustomed to riding, and have 
always been fearless.” 

'‘And you have such devoted sons that you are 
never without an escort.” 

" I am very happy in that respect. But now I am 
glad to think that my travelling days are over, for 
a long time, at least; for with my Margaret and 
Dr. Craig to make my home bright and happy, I 
may well content myself in this part of the world, 
although Lucy wants me quite as much as they do. 
She says the only cross in her lot is that Leighton 
is so far distant from Chilhowee.” 


166 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


Mrs. Baird smiled, thinking of Mrs. Pratt’s hap- 
piness, and then sighed at thought of Alan. Ah ! 
how true it is, — 

‘My son ’s my son till he gets him a wife, 

But my daughter ’s my daughter all the days of her life.’ 

Still, I ’m afraid Phoebe ’ll leave me some day ; 
then what would become of me ? ” 

“ 0 ma ! ” said Phoebe, how easy it is for you 
to find things to fret about. I don’t want to leave 
you. I don’t intend ever to do it.” 

It made Alan very envious to think that his 
mother and sister would visit the old home when 
he had no chance. He still hoped they would 
change their minds, and stay at home. “ It would 
be just like ma to back out at the last minute,” 
he told Nettie. She ’s awfully afraid to travel, 
and I don’t believe she ’ll go one step.” 

But one day Thad came home from the parson- 
age with the announcement that “ Marse Don ” ex- 
pected to start on his travels the same day the 
stage went, and would be able to keep them com- 
pany a great part of the way. 

<^Then I reckon ma ’ll go, Nettie,” said Alan. 


3IRS. BAIBD IN A STAGE-COACH. 167 


CHAPTER XIV. 

MRS. BAIRD IN A STAGE-COACH. 

The stage was ready to start from its stand in 
the settlement. Mrs. Baird and Phoebe were seated 
in it. Alan and his father waited to see them' off ; 
Nettie also was there, enjoying the occasion. Thad 
was attending to the luggage, and consulting Miles 
Hardy, the driver, at request of his mistress, re- 
garding the dangers of the road and the sure- 
footedness of his horses. 

Mrs. Baird was evidently agitated and distressed, 
but trying to bear up under the strain of parting; 
while Phoebe looked serenely happy, with the 
thought that now the journey was a certainty. 

What ’s Miles waiting for, I wonder ? ” said 
Alan. He told me he started on the stroke.” 

“ Then he ’s different from when he was a young- 
ster,” said Mr. Baird. 

<^Oh! I hope it ’s not time to go,” said Mrs. 
Baird ; for Don ’s not come yet.” 

<<You T1 back out at the last minute, ma, if Don 


168 CBILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

does n’t come.” Alan chuckled at the thought. 

Yes, Phoebe, you need n’t shake your head, you 
know, she will. It would please Nettie and me 
well enough.” 

It ’s hard to go, Alan, but I ’ve started.” There 
were tears in Mrs. Baird’s voice as well as in her 
eyes. 

‘^Now, Alan,” warned his father, ^‘no use making 
ma feel worse than she does.” 

When she ’s got such a fine day for travelling, 
too,” said Nettie. “ Ma, I ’ll take good care of 
pa while you ’re away; you need n’t worry about 
that.” 

Here come the other passengers,” announced 
Phoebe. <^Now we ’ll soon be off.” Two farmers, 
one with his wife, approached, loaded with lug- 
gage. 

^‘I ’m glad you and Phoebe had choice of seats, 
ma,” said Mr. Baird. Those two back corners 
are the best.” 

Unless the coach tumbles over backwards,” said 
Alan ; then everybody ’ll fall atop of ma. Look 
what big men those are, just getting in.” 

Don’t think about that, ma. Alan knows the 
coach is more apt to fall every other way than 
backwards, unless it backs over a bluff; and Miles 


MRS. BAIRD IN A STAGE-COACH. 169 


is sharp enough to look out for that. Just stick 
to those seats, both of you, I say.’’ 

‘^Not if somebody comes to take the middle one,” 
said Phoebe ; I ’ll change then to keep by ma.” 

Well, maybe you ’d find the middle better then, 
with somebody to knock against both ways.” 

<^Yes, pa, so she would,” said Nettie. <^It ’s 
awful to be bumping up against the coach-side at 
every tilt. Ma and Phoebe never travelled in a 
stage-coach before, or they ’d be afraid to take this 
journey.” 

The road ’s nothing but ruts,” said Alan ; Miles 
is always complaining.” 

I just hope you ’ll soon have all the seats 
full, ma, that makes the easiest travelling; then 
you tumble against each other, and nobody ’s hurt.” 

You need n’t want a coachful, ma ; if there are 
many of them such giants as that man on the 
front seat, you ’d be sure to have a break-down. 
Miles came near losing a wheel the last trip.” 

O pa ! why don’t we start ? ” said Phoebe. She 
was in dread lest her mother’s resolution should 
fail. 

Miles and Thad have been mending something 
in the gearing, but they ’re through now.” 

Miles came to Mrs. Baird’s window before taking 


170 CRILTIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

his seat ; he was too much pleased to have her 
and Phoebe as passengers to say anything to alarm 
tliem ; and besides, Thad had given him a hint to 
be reassuring. 

“This here ride into Virginny T1 be the crack 
one of the season, I allow, Mrs. Baird. The road 
is prime jes’ now, an’ the coach mended up com- 
plete, so it ’s like new; an’ them bosses is jes’ as 
quiet as mules, every one mindin’ at a word. Ma 
come mighty nigh agreein’ to go along with us 
to-day, seein’ we was in fer such a lucky time.” 

“I wish she had come. Miles.” 

“ The trouble is she can’t never be coaxed to leave 
pa. I ’ll have to tote ’em both if ever ma goes to 
see the sights ; ’pears so.” 

Mrs. Baird cast a sorrowful glance at her husband, 
who must be left behind while she was starting forth 
on a supposed pleasure-trip. Thad, discerning his 
mistress’s thoughts, spoke quickly. 

“Miles am de one ter git us ober de road safe, 
mistis ; suten, sho. Why, he am fixed fer ebery sort 
o’ mishap, — totin’ a hull blacksmith-shop along a 
purpose to mend us up if we breaks down or if a boss 
so much as loses a shoe.” 

“To be sure,” agreed Miles. “I was n’t settin’ 
in Jacob Webster’s shop fer nothin’, ’stead o’ goin’ to 


MRS. BAIRD IN A STAGE-COACH. 171 

school. I larnt consid^able while I was loafin’ there, 
an’ now it ’s doin’ me a heap o’ good.” 

don’t half like it that you ’ve turned stage- 
driver, Miles,” said Alan. I miss those prime 
hunts we used to have together.” 

was about tired of havin’ an empty pocket, 
Alan. I like it a heap better, now there ’s money 
clinkin’ in it,” laughed Miles, as he climbed up to 
his seat, and cracked his whip. 

Starting without Don after all, ma,” said Alan. 

Marse Don ’s cornin’, mistis, he gib his wud fer 
it; him an’ Buncombe kin ketch up easy.” 

^^We ’ll ride on with the coach a little way, 
Nettie,” said Mr. Baird. <‘Ma ’s lonesome, not 
seeing Don.” 

They had not gone far when three riders were seen 
in the distance. 

That ’s not Don’s road,” said Mrs. Baird. 

^^And none of those horses is Buncombe,” said 
Phoebe. 

Why, Nettie,” exclaimed Alan, I do believe 
it ’s” — 

<< Oh ! it ’s Aunt Hadassah ! ” cried Nettie, starting 
off at a quick pace. 

Of course Alan was compelled to hasten after her. 

Good-by, ma,’’ he shouted ; I hope you ’ll be back 


172 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

soon ! ” He had been leading Phoebe’s horse, which 
she had ridden to meet the stage ; now he threw the 
bridle to his father, who failed to catch it, and Bram- 
ble cantered off, while all eyes were fixed on Miss 
Hadassah and her escort, which consisted of two 
stout, comfortable-looking mulattoes, a man and a 
woman. 

The sewing-woman Nettie told us of, ma,” said 
Phoebe, <^and the doctor’s body-servant, that Alan 
says he ’s to have when Dr. Thompson ’s dead.” 

0 Phoebe, what an escape ! how could I have 
lived with such a burden? How thoughtless Alan 
and Nettie were ! Miss Hadassah looks like a very 
formidable woman j I ’m glad I don’t have to meet 
her.” 

Ma, you ’re leaving me with a great many respon- 
sibilities,” said Mr. Baird, turning to the stage win- 
dow after watching the meeting between Alan and 
the newcomers. ’ll be sorry to think of your 

being gone very long.” 

‘‘ Send me word when Alan’s house is built, and 
he in it ; you need n’t expect me before that, hus- 
band.” The sight of Miss Hadassah had served to 
strengthen Mrs. Baird’s resolve. 

Dar goes Bramble ! ” suddenly cried Thad, and 
dashed over the road in pursuit. 


3fRS. BAIRD IN A STAGE-COACH. 173 

“Why, pa, Bramble will be lost! see that cane- 
brake ! Oh ! she ’s almost in it.” 

“ Why, Alan ’s left me in the lurch, I declare ! I 
can’t do anything with your ma’s horse to hold. All 
this mischief happened in a minute, too. Never 
mind, Phoebe, Thad ’s sure to catch her. She ’ll 
stop when she hears his voice. There ! he ’s got 
her ! ” 

“ 0 Phoebe ! what ’ll become of Bramble when 
Thad ’s a;way ? I ’m afraid you ’ll not have a pony 
to come back to, nor I.” 

“Don’t think about it, ma. We ’re going away to 
forget things. Oh, here comes Don ! Now we ’ll 
get along. And Dr. Ken ’s with him. There, the 
doctor ’s starting off the other way ; he must be rid- 
ing to see a patient. See, now Buncombe ’s trotting 
to catch up with us.” 

Don came riding up with Thad and the captured 
horse. 

“ Glad to see you, Don,” said Mr. Baird. “ I 
wanted to keep beside the stage for a while, but I 
can’t with two led horses on my hands. And there 
goes Alan with those folks as fast as he can trot. 
He seems to have forgotten Bramble altogether. 
I ’m glad you brought her back safe, Thad. I shall 
have to go right away if I ’m to get any help from 


174 CHILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

Alan with these horses. Good-by, ma ; I ’m sorry to 
leave you so soon. Phoebe, take good care of ma. 
Thad, look well after your two mistresses.” 

Mrs. Baird cried as she watched her husband ride 
away with his troublesome charge, two led horses. 

I did n’t believe I could ever do such a thing, 
Phoebe, as to leave your pa this way,” sobbed she. 

Never mind, ma,” whispered Phoebe, conscious 
of the curious eyes and ears of the other passengers. 

It is n’t any of it your fault, not the least bit. 
It ’s Alan’s and Nettie’s and Jen’s” — 

And Miss Hadassah’s, and because nobody ’ll 
build that house.” Mrs. Baird straightened herself 
up, and wiped away her tears, indignation proving a 
useful stimulant at the moment. 

Then Don rode up to the window ; and his bright 
face and cheery voice had their usual effect on her, 
they charmed away her grief. 

Don was familiar with the road for some distance, 
and took pains to point out every thing that might 
interest his friends. Mrs. Baird and Phoebe, who 
had never been farther from home than Maryville 
since coming to Tennessee, were delighted with the 
new scenes. The road was at its best, the horses 
needed no urging ; they even went too fast for 
Phoebe, who wanted more than a glimpse of what 


MRS. BAIRD IN A STAGE-COACH. 175 

was grand and beautiful. Don or Thad kept by the 
window all the morning, whenever the width of the 
road permitted. It was a great pleasure to Thad to 
see his mistress sitting in her corner, rested and con- 
tented, looking happy even, while Phoebe smiled as 
if her troubles were all over. 

Some of the passengers were beginning to talk 
about being hungry, but Phoebe and her mother 
could not believe it was near dinner-time. They 
were driving through thick woods, where the road 
was narrow and trees hid the view. 

There ’s not much to look at just now, that ’s 
what makes them think about dinner,” said Phoebe. 

Suddenly a great trumpet-blast sounded from over- 
head, loud, often repeated. At once Mrs. Baird, 
imagining Miles was calling for help, was terror- 
stricken ; she thought of Indians, of horse-thieves, 
of highway robbers ; this dark woods was the very 
place for waylaying the stage. She screamed, and 
grasped Phoebe. Oh ! what ’s happened, child ? 
Where ’s Don ? Thad ! 0 Thad ! Why is n’t he here 
to protect us ? ” 

0 ma ! nothing ’s the matter. Don’t you see 
nobody else is frightened ? ” 

Thad hurried to the window. “Mistis, dat am 
only Miles’ ho’n, blowin’ ’cause it ’s nigh baitin’- 


176 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

time. Now de folks at de stoppin’-place 11 know 
dey mus’ hurry up dinner.’’ 

Oh ! is that all, Thad ? ” 

^^Yes, ma’am,” said the big farmer. ‘^They been 
listenin’ for the horn. Now they ’ll clap the chickens 
on to brile, as many as ’ll be wanted. That ’s a 
mighty knowin’ signal to them that ’s in the secret ; 
it tells how many folks is wantin’ dinner in this 
here stage. The driver give a toot for every one 
of us.” 

‘‘I hope there ’s no mistakin’ it,” said the other 
farmer. “’T would n’t do to count me out, for I 
want my dinner bad.” 

^‘1 never was as hungry, seems to me,” said his 
wife. 

“ Well, the bosses is carryin’ us there straight. 
They mus’ know what ’s before ’em by the way 
they trot.” 


STAGE-COACH STORIES. 


177 


CHAPTER XV. 

STAGE-COACH STORIES. 

Within half an hour the travellers reached the 
inn, where they found a good dinner and more pas- 
sengers waiting, so, when the stage started again, 
every seat was full. The coach held nine, having 
three benches, one at each end and one in the middle. 
The latter had for its back a broad leather belt, to 
be unhooked at one end when passengers wished 
to go to and from the back seats. 

Phoebe gave her corner to a very stout woman, 
one of the newcomers, and the big farmer took a 
seat on the middle bench. 

0 child ! you T1 be smothered,” whispered her 
mother; for the farmer’s weight bent the leather 
strap like a bow, and Phoebe sat just behind. 

^‘Xever mind, ma, I ’ll jolt easier, according to 
Kettie.” 

Soon they came to a very rough road. 

“ Mistis,” said Thad at the window, we hab 
gotter cross ober a pow’ful rutty piece o’ ground ; 


178 CHTLHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

but Miles says der can’t no harm happen noways, 
sutenly nothin’ but joltin’.” 

Then for some time they saw no more of Thad 
or Don, who had to keep a careful watch on their 
horses’ steps. 

The new experience was extremely unpleasant to 
Mrs. Baird and Phoebe. The coach no longer rolled 
smoothly along, but heaved and plunged in a fright- 
ful way. 

“ This must be the place Alan told us about, ma. 
He said it kept Miles grumbling, and the horses were 
afraid of it. I hear him coaxing them now.” 

‘‘They may AVell be frightened. I reckon they 
think the coach will pitch over on them. It ’s a 
wonder they go on. How in the world can Miles 
keep his seat ? Phoebe, you ’ll be jolted to pieces, 
child ! ” 

“ It ’s more like being in a boat than a coach,” 
said Phoebe. 

“It would take the roughest kind of water to 
make a boat as bad as this,” said the stout woman 
in the corner. 

“ Some roads are the better for ploughing,” said 
Mr. Jenkins, one of the new passengers. “That 
might improve this one.” 

“No, ’t would n’t,” said the farmer on the front 


STAGE-COACH STOBIES. 


179 


seat. ’s too powerful rocky in these diggin’s, 

you could n’t run a furrow noway.” 

I ’d sooner it was mud than rocks, if we ’ve got 
to upset,” said his wife. 

Bad ’s the best,” said another voice. 

Then came a harder jolt than ever. 

Must be caught on a snag ! ” 

‘^It ’ll be a wonder if the coach is n’t broken to 
pieces ! ” 

Don’t mind makin’ a piller of me, miss,” as 
Phoebe’s head thumped the hurley farmer’s shoulder. 
“’T will maybe save you a broken nose.” 

‘^The young lady’ s more like feathers than you 
are,” said the stout woman. 

More ’s the pity when it comes to a tug like 
this.” 

Trembling Mrs. Baird was sure they would n’t 
escape with whole bones. 

’d sooner walk than ride,” said one passenger. 

“ So would I, let ’s ’light,” agreed several. 

But the resolve had come too late; as the men 
rose from their seats two of the wheels slipped 
into a very deep rut, and the coach gave a frightful 
lurch, throwing all the passengers against the sink- 
ing side. 

Mrs. Baird and Phoebe were too frightened to 


180 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

scream, and the shouts and exclamations of the 
other passengers added to their terror. 

Miles sprang to the ground ; Don and Thad hurried 
to the side of the coach where Mrs. Baird and Phoebe 
had been sitting. The angle at which it was tilted 
made it difficult to look in; but Thad succeeded, 
and cried out, “ Mistis am atop, thank de Lord. 
But where be you, little missy ? ” 

0 Thad ! help ma,’^ came the answer, in a 
smothered voice. 

‘‘Yes, we will. Miss Phoebe,’’ Miles called out 
reassuringly. “’T ain’t nigh as bad as a reg’lar 
upset; jes’ stuck in a ditch, that ’s it. We ’ll git 
them wheels pried out in no time.” 

But Miles, strong as he was, and with Don and 
Thad to help, could not right the coach. 

“Help me out!” wailed Mrs. Baird, at last find- 
ing her voice. 

Miles and Thad succeeded in lifting her out of 
the window. Then Phoebe was rescued in the same 
way. Don helped Thad to lead half-dazed Mrs. 
Baird up the bank, where she and Phoebe sat on a 
log, and watched the escape of the other passengers 
from the stranded coach. 

“ Phoebe ! ” she gasped amid her sobs, “ don’t ever 
ask me to travel in a stage-coach again.” 


STAGE-COACH STOBIES, 


181 


Mistis, you be n’t hurt any way, be you ? or 
you, missy ? ” asked anxious Thad. 

“ Oh, I don’t think so ! You ’re just frightened, 
is n’t that it, ma?” 

I don’t know ; I thought I ’d die in that coach, 
and you, too, Phoebe. Oh ! I ought never to have 
come; I was wanted at home, that was where I 
was needed. They were all against my coming 
away.” 

“ Mother thought it was the very best thing you 
could do,” said Don. 

Did she ? Yes, I remember she told me so. 
Oh ! how long ago it seems ! Why, Phoebe, was it 
only this morning we left home ? ” 

Soon Miles came to summon them. The coach 
was righted, and everybody ready to get in again. 

Don’t ask me to ride in your stage. Miles,” pro- 
tested Mrs. Baird. 0 Thad, if I only had my 
horse here ! ’’ 

Miles was evidently distressed. There ain’t no 
way fer you to git over the road but the coach, fer as 
I can see, Mrs. Baird; an’ there won’t nothin’ like 
this happen ag’in, you can take my word fer it.” 

Oh ! I know you ’re careful, and it ’s not your 
fault that the roads are bad.” 

It was all those men getting up at once to climb 


182 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

out that made the big tilt, ma. It was n’t the least 
bit Miles’s fault.” 

Miles smiled gratefully at Phoebe. I ’m glad 
you don’t blame me, Miss Phoebe. If there was any- 
thing in the world I wanted bad, it was to see. you 
and your ma havin’ a good time this journey, and 
I ’m dreadful sorry I missed it'; but the rest of the 
road ’s prime, an’ I jes’ hope you ’ll forgit this 
mishap.” 

“ 0 Miles ! I ought n’t to have come, I see it now ; 
if I die in the wilderness, it will be because I left 
my home.” And poor Mrs. Baird sobbed, remember- 
ing the sad, burdened look on her husband’s face as 
she last saw him, riding off with the two led horses. 

Ma, you can blame me, if you want to,” said 
Phoebe; ^^you know how I coaxed.” 

You did jes’ right. Miss Phoebe. Ma an’ pa an’ 
me is all agreed about that. Why, after the way 
Alan ’s been carryin’ on sence he come home to do 
doctorin’, there was n’t no livin’ with him, hardly. 
It kep’ me laughin’ to see his pranks, till I seen how 
it was workin’ fer you folks. Then I was sorry 
enough, and ashamed that I ’d took him off huntin’ 
an’ leavin’ j^ou at home frettin’ ; fer there ain’t no- 
body in the world I ’d like to please better ’n you.” 

Miles’s face grew red as he spoke. Then he sud- 


STAGE-COACH STORIES, 


183 


denly turned away. The coach was ready, and Mrs. 
Baird still unwilling to go. 

Suppose we walk a little way/’ said Don. 

“ Dat ’s it,” agreed Thad. Dis yere bad road 
don’t las’ but a quarter mile furder, ’cordin’ to 
Miles.” 

So they went on, keeping ahead of the coach, lead- 
ing their horses and helping Mrs. Baird and Phoebe, 
till at last Mrs. Baird was willing to re-enter the 
stage. Soon after this the road became so narrow 
that the horsemen had to fall behind. 

Mistis ’ll miss us, but dere ’s no helpin’ it. My ! 
but Miles is sorry ’bout de way she got frightened. 
Little missy bore up beautiful, now did n’t she ? 
Pore Miles, he ’mos’ los’ his head, he wuz so tuk up 
wid de thought o’ dem two, chiefly missy ; you seen 
dat, Marse Don ? ” 

^^Yes,” agreed Don. 

So ’t is.” Thad was evidently proud to think of 
his young mistress being valued even by one beneath 
her. Little missy ’ll never know it, an’ it ain’t 
fittin’ she should, rememberin’ de fambly she come 
from.” 

It ’s well Miles has his mother to care for.” 

Yes, fer he can’t never git little missy ; he ’s 
got sense ’nough to know dat.” 


184 CHILUOWEE BOYS IN HABNESS, 

Her mother afraid she ^11 lose her heart to 
somebody in Virginia.” 

Thad laughed. Mistis don’t know as much as' I 
does, or she would n’t be afeard o’ dat. Strange she 
don’t, too ; I ’s never heerd a wud on de subjec’ any 
more ’n her, but it ’s plain as day to me. Little 
missy ’s los’ her heart a’ready, you know dat, Marse 
Don.” 

Only Don’s silence gave consent, but Thad under- 
stood. He liked to air his views to Don, and was 
glad of the opportunity. 

An’ him wid no heart to gib her, ’cause it ’s los’ 
to somebody else dat ’ll never know it any mo’ ’n 
him ’ll know ’bout little missy holdin’ him so dear, 
an’ never breathin’ it to anybody. It ’s jes’ a secret 
’tween you an’ me, Marse Don.” 

Yes, I understand, Thad. We must be glad 
that Phoebe is happy in her love to her mother.” 

Yes, an’ Miles ’s got his ma, an’ Marse Hugh ’s 
got de Injun wuk, but dey ain’t any of ’em got jes’ 
what dey hankered fer, ’cep’ on’y Dr. George an’ 
little Miss Alice. I been studyin’ on dis p’int a good 
bit, an’ it seems cur’us.” 

Yes, it does,” agreed Don. Now the road ’s 
wider, I ’ll ride by the coach awhile.” 

Thad still meditated on the subject which inter- 


STAGE-COACH STORIES. 


185 


ested him. '<<Dere ain’t eber no need to ’splain 
things to Marse Don ; half a wud ’s ’nough fer him, 
or- he knows it befo’ han’, prob’ly ; seems a drefful 
pity dat so many folks mus’ be crossed in love, but 
so ’t is. An’ Marse Don ’ll be in de same fix hisse’f 
. ’fore long, like as not ; f o’ sho he will if he gwinter 
set his heart on Marse Leigh’s sister, fer, ’cordin’ ter 
Jubal’s way o’ thinkin’, dar ’s somebody else dat ’s 
sho to git her. Marse Don ’s bline fer oncet, if he 
ain’t got no inklin’ o’ dat.” 

None of the other travellers had minded the upset 
as Mrs. Baird and Phoebe had. To them it was 
only one of the day’s events which they were able 
soon to forget. Mrs. Baird tried to be interested in 
the conversation. They were passing through a 
region which showed evidences of an earthquake, 
long past, however. 

Look at those sink-holes,” said Mr. Jenkins; 
the ’quake made them. Those pretty grassy ba- 
sins lying along the road are really dangerous 
places.” 

Some of ’em has springs in ’em,” said a farmer. 
If you ’d dig down you might come to a cave, 
maybe.” 

And here ’s a regular earthquake crack,” said Mr. 
Jenkins. ‘^It ’s well our road is n’t any nearer.” 


186 CUILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


All looked with interest as they passed several 
fissures a foot or two wide and some yards in 
length. 

I felt those shocks myself/’ said Mr. Jenkins. 

They came just when the last war was beginning. 
The two happening together made some folks think 
the world was about coming to an end. Many people 
were so frightened that they began to go to church.” 

I remember those days/’ said another traveller. 

We had more meetin’s than ever before. When 
there was n’t a church they were held in the open 
air. People camped in wagons and tents. Two 
or three ministers would come maybe, and hold the 
meetin’ for several days. They were solemn times, 
too.” 

‘‘And then, again,” said Mr. Jenkins, “some very 
curious occurrences took place down our way. I ’ve 
heard my father, who was a preacher, tell how 
some persons were afflicted by a singular kind of 
bodily exercise called the jerks. It would come 
on while they were sitting in church during ser- 
vice, or in the midst of the congregation if service 
was out in the open air. Violent contortions of 
the whole body would take place, and continue in 
the most rapid succession, backward and forward, 
and seeming to exercise every muscle; this would 


STAGE-COACH STORIES. 


187 


last until the person afflicted became exhausted, and 
sank down in a fainting condition, from which he 
would gradually recover. When the fit would come 
on it was common for two strong men to take hold 
of the person, one by each arm, and hold him until 
it was ended ; for there was danger of the sufferer 
being injured against a tree or bench or wall, or 
any one near. The fit seemed to come on involun- 
tarily, and those attacked had no power to resist 
it.’’ 

Mr. Jenkins’s story was listened to with deep 
attention. 

can believe every word you say,” said the 
woman in the corner ; for I had an aunt subject 
to those fits. She seemed to regard it as a kind of 
judgment. She said there was no religion in it.” 

^‘No, it would seem not; but I don’t pretend to 
speculate on the subject.” 

My father had a more curious tale to tell than 
yours, Mr. Jenkins,” said another traveller. He 
said there was a strange kind of exercise in this 
country in the time of his youth; it was called 
the dancing exercise. It came on people in church ; 
and they would involuntarily rise, and dance rapidly. 
I don’t remember that he said how long it lasted, 
or how the fit went off; but so it was that many 


188 CHILIIOWEE BOYS IN HABNESS. 


pious people were disposed to censure those who 
were the subjects of it. 

“Among those who condemned the involuntary 
dances was an old man of good standing and in- 
fluence, who had often spoken against them. One 
day, in the spring of the year, this man was em- 
ployed in making tobacco-hills, to set his plants in. 
He was reflecting about the dancing exercise, when 
suddenly he commenced dancing; and, in spite of 
all his efforts to restrain it, he continued to dance 
incessantly until he had danced or kicked down 
nearly all the hills he had made, and until he was 
very much exhausted. At length the fit left him, 
when he returned to his house to rest. After that 
he was careful not to say much about the invol- 
untary dancers.” 

“ I reckon not, he ’d had his lesson.’’ 

These tales led to a long and animated discus- 
sion, to which tired Mrs. Baird did not listen. She 
had changed seats with Phoebe, because it made 
her more nervous to look at the road. 

As darkness came on she went to sleep ; but Phoebe 
looked with wide-awake eyes at the steep cliffs and 
deep hollows which the moonlight revealed, and 
Avondered how Miles could carry them safely over 
such a narrow road. 


STAGE-COACH STORIES, 


189 


Don and Thad kept behind, carefully watching 
their horses’ steps. 

^‘Dis boss am one dat Marse Alan fetched fum de 
ole doctor’s,” remarked Thad, an’ he coaxed his pa 
inter swappin’ him fer one o’ his’n ; an’ I hab ter 
be mighty pertic’lar, not bein’ used ter him.” 

“ It seems as if he might give you trouble.” 

^‘Yes, sah, till I git all his tricks larnt. An’ dis 
am a mighty pore place fer studyin’ a new hoss.” 

At last the travellers reached the stopping-place, 
where they found a good supper and comfortable 
beds. 

‘‘This seems to be the best part of the journey, 
Phoebe,” said Mrs. Baird, as she laid her tired head 
on her pillow. 


190 CHILUOWEE BOYS IN UABNESS. 


CHAPTEE XVL 
thad’s peril. 

FEEL better,” said Mrs. Baird, the next morn- 
ing; “really, Phoebe, I hn not so tired as when I 
started yesterday.” 

“ That ’s how Mrs. Pratt said it would be. And 
we ’ll have a good day, see how bright the sun is, 
ma. I feel that we ’re having a real holiday.” 

And Mrs. Baird and Phoebe took their seats in 
the stage, both looking bright and cheerful. 

Thad, riding beside Don, said, “ It g winter rain 
’fo’ sundown, Marse Don, I know de signs ; but ’t 
ain’t no use pesterin’ mistis ’bout it ’fo’han’.” 

“No, let her be as happy as she can.” 

It was Don’s last day with the stage, after that his 
road would lie in another direction. He rode beside 
the window ; and as Mrs. Baird and Phoebe watched 
his bright face and listened to his cheery voice, they 
wondered how they could travel without him. 

“ How we shall miss you, Don,” said Mrs. Baird ; 
“I can’t bear to think about it.” 


THAB^S PERIL. 


191 


Then don’t, Mrs. Baird ; there ’ll be something 
new to interest you to-morrow ; it ’s always so in 
a stage journey, — new passengers, new sights.” 

Yes, beautiful sights,” said Phoebe. “ Mrs Pratt 
said our road lay through very romantic scenes.” 

That means dangerous, child ! Climbing moun- 
tains, fording rivers ! I ’d sooner travel a level 
road, with nothing to look at but sky and grass.” 

Any road ’s good, ma, that has Aunt Eachel at 
the epd.” 

“Yes, Phoebe, and the old home, that I had de- 
spaired of seeing ; that ought to reconcile me to 
the hardships of the way.” 

Phoebe gazed at everything with wide-open eyes. 
Every turn of the road revealed new beauties, every 
passing traveller afforded food for speculation. 

A wagon drawn by two horses was seen not far 
off on a cross-road. The man and boy sitting in 
it were looking about as if they, too, were in a new 
world. 

“AYhy, Phoebe,” cried Don, “that ’s Mr. Yost! 
and Jerry ! I wonder what brings them so far from 
home. 0 Mrs. Baird I don’t you want to see them ? ” 

“To be sure I do. They were always so kind to 
Alan!” 

Don hastened to overtake them. He was the 


192 CEIL HO WEE BOYS IE H ABN ESS. 


only one in the party who had ever seen the Yosts ; 
but Miles Hardy and Thad, as well as Phoebe and 
her mother, knew all about them, and were pleased 
at the thought of meeting them. 

How glad they are to see Don ! ’’ said Phoebe ; 

and how much they have to say ; it looks as if 
they could n’t talk fast enough.” 

And they want to see us, for they ’re turning 
this way.” 

Thad hurried forward, and helped to turn the 
wagon in the narrow road. 

Something ’s the matter with Jerry,” said Phoebe, 
on a nearer view. “ See, he is propped up with 
pillows.” 

They met at the crossing. Miles stopped the 
stage. The passengers were entertained by the en- 
counter ; anything new interested them. 

‘‘ Howdy, ma’am,” said Mr. Yost to Mrs. Baird 
at the stage window. “ I ’m powerful glad to meet 
Mr. Alan’s ma. An’ be this little Miss Phoebe, that 
we used to hear tell of? My! my! Jerry, jes’ 
look here ; she ’s a growed up young lady, purty as 
a picter ! ” 

Jerry’s eyes sparkled as he smiled on Phoebe, 
who looked at him with pity, for she saw that he 
was a suffering invalid. 


THAB'S PERIL, 193 

It ’s been a long time since Mr. Alan rid up 
our way fer to go to college.’’ 

^^Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Baird; ^^you ’d think 
so if you saw him now. Why, he ’s turned into 
a doctor.” 

You hear that, Jerry ? I allow he ’d like to 
have the curin’ of you.” 

^^Dr. Ken Craig ’s the one I want.” 

^^What ’s happened to Jerry, Mr. Yost?” asked 
Mrs. Baird. 

Got hurt terribly bad by his horse throwin’ him 
an’ then rollin’ atop of him.” 

Oh, how dreadful ! ” 

was in a big hunt we was havin’, an’ Jerry 
was goin’ ahead of everybody ; he ’s growed to be 
a fine hunter; beats the world at it.” 

can’t do it no more, pa, not since I ’ve lost 
poor Bouncer; ’t was him led the hunts.” 

^^Kever mind, Jerry; once your back and leg git 
well again, we ’ll come across another tip-top horse, 
— I ’m on the lookout a’ready.” 

^^An’ I feel a heap pearter, pa, jes’ from Mr. Don 
tellin’ me how to get to Dr. Ken’s. We ’ll go 
straight to Chilhowee. The horses is headin’ the 
right way now, ain’t they, Mr. Don ? ” 

Yes, Jerry ; and to-morrow you ’ll be there. Take 


194 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


him straight to the parsonage, Mr. Yost. Father 
and mother will be glad as can be to see you both ; 
they can never forget how kind you have been to all 
us boys. And Ken will come as fast as he can 
ride when he hears you ’re there.” 

“ I know that. Oh ! we ’ve been hankerin’ bad 
to see Dr. Ken ever since Jerry got hurt, thinkin’ 
he could cure him ; but we heard tell there was no 
chance of him, for he was ’way off to Phil’delphy, 
’tendin’ hundreds of sick folks in a hospital.” 

So he was till just a little while ago, but now 
he ’s home again.” 

^‘That ’s the best news I ’ve heard in many a day. 
Why, Jerry, w^e was takin’ our little trip jes’ in the 
nick o’ time, seein’ we was to meet Mr. Don on the 
road all so sudden. We was .ridin’ fer salt,” — Mr. 
Yost addressed the stageful of passengers, for all 
were listening; ^‘it seems as if salt ’s about the 
hardest thing to get in the world, anyway to folks 
that lives fur from the works, an’ has a good lot of 
stock to feed an’ meat to pickle.” 

“You ’re a long ways out of your road if you was 
bound fer the salt-works,” said Miles Hardy. 

“Yes; we was travellin’ about some jes’ to see 
the sights. Jerry ’s been kept home so long that 
his eyes is achin’ fer somethin’ new.” 


THAB'S PERIL. 


195 


I can shut ’em now, pa, till we get to Chilhowee. 
To-morrer I ’ll be there !” Jerry’s face beamed with 
happiness. ’ve been hankerin’ to see it this 

long time. Why, Mr. Don, I ’ll see your pa an’ ma 
an’ that little sister of yours, an’ the church where 
your pa preaches. Oh ! won’t ma an’ Malindy an’ 
the boys wish they ’d come along ? ” 

Only Mr. Hugh won’t be there,” said Mr. Yost. 
^Ht does beat all, Mr. Don, to hear of his goin’ to 
live among the Indians, an’ likin’ it.” 

^^He loves his work, Mr. Yost.” 

‘^Pa, if Mr. Hugh can live in a wigwam, you 
would n’t be afraid to let me try it ; now, would 
you ? an’ I ’d jes’ love to hear him preach. Le ’s 
take that road for our next trip.” 

^^Your boy seems to think he ’s in for a big 
holiday,” said Mr. Jenkins. 

‘^1 ’m that pleased to see him beginnin’ to get 
peart, after bein’ bad so long, that I ’low I ’ll not 
say ^no’ to nothin’ he asks.” 

A big dose of happiness is about the best med’cine 
there is in this here world,” said the stout farmer. 

^^An’ them cattle ’ll maybe find a lick on your 
own place if they get powerful hungry fer salt before 
you get back with some,” said the other farmer. 
Would n’fithat be luck, pa ? ” said Jerry. 


196 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

Yes ; ’t would be the makiid of us to have salt- 
works of our own, to be sure/’ 

Such things has happened,” said the farmer. 
^‘Dunib beasts is knowin’ critters sometimes.” 

At parting Miles said, ‘^Be sure to stop at that 
baitin’-place I told you about, Mr. Yost. There ’s 
where we was last night. Tell ’em I sent you, an’ 
they ’ll treat you tip-top.” 

Then eager Jerry began his journey on the Chil- 
howee road, while Miles cracked his whip, and the 
stage went briskly the opposite way. 

<i’T wuz a blessin’ we met dem folks,” said Thad 
to Don. ^^Dat pore boy ’mos’ feels as if he was on 
his feet ag’in, he ’s that set up with thinkin’ of what 
Dr. Ken can do fer him.” 

^‘Yes, so I see. And his father ’s just as full of 
hope. Well, Ken can do wonders, I know. And 
there ’s Dr. Pratt at his call, with his skill and long 
experience. Oh ! I really think Jerry has his best 
chance.” 

Mrs. Baird watched the gathering clouds with 
dread. There ’s no way for us to escape this 
storm, Phoebe. This slow lumbering coach will be 
stranded in the midst of it, I ’m afraid.” 

‘‘ I sha ’n’t mind, ma, just so you keep dry ; and 
Miles says the stage is waterproof.” 


THAB'S PERIL. 


197 


The first drops fell as they alighted at the 
half-way house, where dinner awaited them. By 
the time they had dined, the rain poured in tor- 
rents. 

0 Phoebe ! I wish we did n’t have to go. I think 
Miles ought to wait till the worst ’s over. I wish 
I could get hold of him to persuade him.” 

‘‘ This is not a thunder-storm, ma. It ’s only rain. 
I do hope you won’t mind it, for Miles can’t stop j 
Don says so.” 

‘‘No,” said Mr. Jenkins. “This stage goes, rain 
or shine ; that ’s the beauty of it to us business men, 
anyway for one that ’s got to ’tend court. This young 
stage-driver comes and goes like a clock, and he ’s 
getting a name for punctuality and reliability that ’s 
going to be the making of him.” 

“ I ’m glad to hear it,” said Mrs. Baird ; “ for he ’s 
from our neighborhood.” 

“Well, he certainly seems to have found his vo- 
cation.” 

When they re-entered the stage, every window was 
shut, every curtain snugly fastened down. 

“ You ’ll have to do without much sight-seeing 
this afternoon, miss,” said the fat farmer to Phoebe. 
“ This kind of a pour-down makes things look blacker 
than night.” 


198 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


And we can’t even see what dangers we are 
getting into, shut in as we are,” said Mrs. Baird. 

•‘‘That may be just as well,” said the woman 
in the corner. “ My heart ’s not apt to quake so 
much when I travel with my eyes shut as when 
I look at the road.” 

The rain beat against the stage on all sides, the 
wind whistled and howled in the tree-tops, great 
branches pounded the roof ; at intervals Miles’s voice 
could be heard urging his horses. The passengers 
whiled away the time by telling tales of peril, each 
more fearful than the last. 

Mrs. Baird clung to Phoebe, trembling, but strug- 
gling for self-control. “We can’t even get help 
from Don or Thad, shut up as we are in this dread- 
ful den.” 

“ Oh, yes, we can if we need them, ma ! they 
said they ’d keep as near as possible to the stage.” 

The two horsemen were having a troublesome 
time in the rain, principally on account of Thad’s un- 
satisfactory horse. Don tried in vain to help him. 

“ Dis bad weather ’pears to ’a’ put mischief inter 
de pore critter’s head. I sutenly never seen such a 
bolter an’ kicker in all my bo’n days. Marse Don, 
you better not try to keep along-sider me ; dis boss 
am askin’ fer a wide berth.” 


THAB'S PERIL. 


199 


^^Mr. Baird ought never to have started you to 
ride to Virginia on such an animal.’’ 

“ No ; an’ I kinder sorter think I ’ll never git dar 
on him, nuther. But massa an’ mistis was both so 
took by de good looks of de beast, dat Marse Alan 
got him off his ban’s mighty easy; swapped him 
fer dat ugly ole hoss I useter ride to mill, pore 
Boneset. I wish I wuz on him now, ’t would be 
jes’ play to ride him after dis ’sperience. I dassent 
let mistis know ’bout it, fer she ’s got a heap too 
much trouble a’ready. De rain makes dis road awful 
slippy, Marse Don; better take care how Buncombe 
steps, fer here comes a mighty narrer place on de 
edge of dis big cliff.” 

can trust Buncombe for being sure-footed.” 

“ Oh ! I orter hab Boneset fer travellin’ like dis ! 
I ’d ’light an’ walk ; ’t would be a heap easier, 
but dis hoss would lose hisse’f in ’bout a minute 
if he had de chance. I mus’ be alius holdin’ him 
in. Dar ! dar ! Marse Don, he ’s a-goin’ som ’ers ! 
Pore mistis ! ” 

The fractious horse dashed wildly on, as if to 
pass the stage, just where the road was too narrow. 
Por a moment it seemed certain that the horse 
would dash against the stage, but Thad’s efforts 
caused him to swerve to one side; and, the road 


200 CHILUOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

being slippery and the animal off his balance, both 
he and his rider toppled over the cliff, greatly to 
Don’s horror. He was the only witness. He heard 
Thad’s terrified cries as he fell, Marse Don ! Marse 
Don ! help ! help ! Pore mistis ! missy ! far’well ! ” 
The last words sounded far away, and the crash that 
followed was terrible to hear. Don lifted up his 
voice, as he urged Buncombe forward. 

Halloo, Miles, halloo ! Stop, stop ! Thad’s over 
the cliff ! ” There was no hiding this new and 
dreadful trouble from Mrs. Baird, who screamed 
with terror and distress as she heard Don’s startling 
cry. 

“ 0 Phoebe, Phoebe ! what in the world will be- 
come of us ! Thad ’s dead, of course he ’s dead, and 
we can’t get along without him ; he ’s all we had 
left of all my property, oh ! ” and in her excitement 
she tried to get out of the coach, convulsed with 
sobs as she was. 

0 ma ! stay here,” urged Phoebe. Don will see 
about him, and Miles, — everybody will help.” 

Certainly we will,” said Mr. Jenkins. You ’d 
better keep your ma in the coach, miss. She can 
never get to the poor fellow j the cliff ’s a hundred 
feet or more to the bottom.” 

Oh, oh ! and he had my money ! for safe keep- 


THAB'S PERIL, 


201 


ing ! all my money ! Why, Phoebe, we’ ve lost every- 
thing ! ” Mrs. Baird’s distress knew no bounds ; 
she clung to Phoebe, and wailed bitterly. 

All was commotion in the stage and out of it. • 
The men had hastened to the rescue, all but Miles, 
who could not leave his horses on such a dangerous 
part of the road, especially with Mrs. Baird and 
Phoebe in the stage. He gave the men a strong 
rope, which he kept for emergencies. Mrs. Baird 
hid her face, and tried not to hear what was going 
on; it was all too dreadful. 

Oh ! I ought never to have come this journey, 
Phoebe. I said so yesterday, and now I am surer 
than ever. How can I live through it ? ” 

The other women did not know how to comfort 
her, and neither did Miles, who feared the worst for 
Thad. 

The rescuers hurried to the scene of the accident. 
Don had dismounted, and was peering down over the 
cliff, calling to Thad, whose horse could be seen lying 
in a heap at the bottom. 

Thad ’s holding on somewhere down there,” said 
Don. Don’t you hear him ? He spoke to me. 
He wants a rope ; he ’s holding on to a sapling, and 
it ’s breaking loose. Oh, you ’ve got one ; I ’m so 
glad ! ” 


202 


CIIILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


It was well the men were strong. They lowered 
the rope, which Thad managed to catch, and then 
they hauled him up. Thad reached the top much 
bruised and strained, but with whole bones. 

Bless de Lord ! ’’ he gasped, as he sank down on 
the bank beside Don. 

0 Thad, I ’m glad to see you safe ! 

Marse Don, I thought it wuz far’well fer sho.’’ 

You made a very narrow escape, my good fel- 
low,’’ said Mr. Jenkins. 

^‘How in the world did you manage to get free 
from the horse instead of going to the bottom with 
him ? ” asked the burly farmer. 

’T wuz a miracle, sho ! I wuz prayin’ fo’ mistis ; 
an’ I jes’ sprung fer dat saplin’, an’ den I heard de 
pore boss’s bones breakin’ down on dem rocks. 
Well, I rid him too long as ’t wuz.” 

Yes,” said Mr. Jenkins. ‘‘He was a fractious 
beast, a good horse to lose if you knew how to do 
without him.” 

“Massa an’ mistis ’ll count it a big loss. Dear 
knows I ’m sorry fer it.” Thad looked greatly 
troubled at thought of the dead horse. “Dis am 
sutenly a terrible mishap.” 

“It ’s to be hoped it won’t be visited on the 
poor man,” said one fj^rmer to the other. “Some 


THAB'S PERIL, 


203 


niggers would run away if they was in a scrape 
like this.’’ 

Yes, there ’s plenty of hiding-places about here.” 

Oh, I could n’t never leave mistis ner little 
missy ! no, never,” protested Thad. “ Marse Don 
knows dat.” 

^^Yes, Thad, I certainly do. And you ’re not 
in any scrape, for it was n’t your fault. I saw it 
all. Mrs. Baird will be too glad to know you ’re 
safe to think much about the horse.” 

^‘An’ I ain’t ’sponsible to massa ner Marse Alan, 
thank God. I belongs to mistis. An’ dar am de 
stage, an’ mistis an’ missy lookin’ out fer me, an’ 
wavin’ der han’kerchers in all dis rain. Marse Don, 
won’t you jes’ git to ’em quick on Buncombe, an’ 
tell ’em dat de money-belt am safe. I wuz ’fraid 
’t would bust in all de rumpus.” Thad whispered 
this important message. 

’ll tell them. But I want to lend you Bun- 
combe. Can’t you scramble up now ? ” 

Thanky, Marse Don. There’s Miles hollerin’ to 
us. I ’d ruther you ’d go on. I kin creep along 
the road someway. Cur’ous how I feel so kinder 
shook to pieces.” 

You got some bad bruises, I ’m afraid.” 

<< I mus’ ’a’ knocked ag’in de cliff consid’able.” 


204 CUILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


You ’ll have to ride Buncombe, anyhow, till we 
catch up to the stage.” 

They helped Thad to mount. I ’m right down 
sorry dat all you gemmen had ter git so wet an’ 
muddy on ’count o’ ine,” he said. He was cheered 
by the evident joy of his two mistresses at sight of 
him; Mrs. Baird wept tears of thankfulness. 

Miles made him welcome to a seat beside himself 
on the stage-box. It ’s a big climb fer a bad 
knee,” he said ; but you ’re a heap surer of gittin’ 
to Yirginny, settin’ still an’ comfortable up here, 
than when you was atop of that poor beast.” 

Presently the sun shone out, and there was a 
glorious rainbow. It seemed a new world to Phoebe. 
The road was better, so Don could ride beside the 
stage. 

‘^How can we finish this dreadful journey without 
you, Don ? ” said Mrs. Baird. Every day brings 
some new mishap.” 

^‘My being along has n’t hindered them one bit.” 

‘^And after all, ma, we ’re sitting here as com- 
fortable as can be, with everything beautiful to 
look at, and Thad safe again. Oh ! I don’t see why 
we can’t be happy.” 

^^Well, child, I am when I remember about poor 
Thad, and how every turn of the wheels takes me 


TRADES PERIL, 


205 


nearer my old home. But, oh ! the hours seem count- 
less since we started. It ’s hard to believe it ’s 
only been two days.’’ 

^^The time ’s seemed short to me,” said Phoebe. 

Miles says we ’ll travel till late this evening ; and 
I ’m glad, since the moon will shine.” 

0 Phoebe ! you make me wish I was young 
again; there was a day when I liked travelling, 
too.” 

But even Phoebe vras tired and hungry and sleepy 
by the time they reached the inn. 

The next morning Don left his friends. Now 
indeed he felt that he was starting on a real holiday, 
where the world was new, and all that was in it. 
What would he find on this grand pleasure trip to 
which he had so long looked forward ? 


206 


CniLHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

MISS hadassah’s visit. 

When Alan and Nettie first met Miss Hadassali on 
the road, with her two servants, they tried to make 
light of the fact that Mrs. Baird and Phoebe had just 
forsaken their home on account of her coming. 

I T1 soon make things straight about ma, Nettie,’’ 
Alan had said. know how to tackle your aunt.” 
He had always been a great favorite with Miss 
Hadassah. After the first greetings, he said in his 
lightest, most off-hand manner, “ See that stage-coach 
just starting. Miss Hadassah ? You ’ll be surprised 
to hear that ma and Phoebe are in it, going on a 
pleasure-jaunt to Virginia.” 

That ’s certainly very strange news, Alan,” said 
Miss Hadassah. “I always understood that your 
mother was something of a fixture, and I did n’t 
expect to be disappointed about seeing her, of all 
people. And now sha’ n’t I even get a glimpse of 
her, or of your sister ? ” 

‘‘ Not unless the stage would stop. And I know 


MISS HADASSAII^S VISIT, 


207 


it won’t, as it is Miles Hardy’s coach. Time was 
when I could wind that fellow round my finger. 
He ’d mind me like a dog. But he ’s different now ; 
I don’t know Avhat ’s done it, stage-driving, maybe ; 
anyhow, I ’m not his master any longer. All the 
hallooing I could do would n’t make him wait till 
we got there.” 

“ I tried hard to coax ma to stay, auntie,” said 
Nettie, ‘‘anyhow till the next stage, for I knew how 
you ’d feel ; but Phoebe was so impatient for that 
visit to her Aunt Pachel that she would not give ma 
any peace, so she really could n’t do anything but 
go.” 

“ Yes, Miss Hadassah,” added Alan, “ it was 
Phoebe’s doing. But we had n’t any idea ma could 
be persuaded into taking such a journey ; and when 
we knew she was really going, it was too late to send 
you word, or we certainly should have done so.” 

“I should have been glad to know, Alan. I fear 
I have come at an inopportune time ; but it was of 
your own choosing.” Miss Hadassah looked severe 
or puzzled, Alan could not decide which ; but he was 
glad of an excuse to leave her. 

“ I shall have to fall behind, Nettie ; there ’s pa 
tugging along with those two led horses, and I prom- 
ised Phoebe I ’d look after Bramble.” 


l08 ClllLlIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


^^You can leave Nettie well enough, Alan,’’ said 
her aunt ; ‘‘for here are Watson and Laney, who took 
care of her long before you ever saw her.” The two 
house-servants accompanying Miss Hadassah smiled 
their broadest on their pretty young mistress, whom 
they had not . seen since her wedding day. They 
had, of course, been interested listeners to Alan’s 
remarks. 

“ Auntie, I hope you won’t mind ma’s being away,” 
said Nettie, as they rode on. She really needed the 
change. All her friends said so.” 

‘‘Oh ! I don’t intend to mind it, Nettie. Of course 
it was a surprise to me. But I already feel recon- 
ciled, for now I* shall have you to myself almost 
as much as if you were in your own house. I did 
not intend to make you a visit till you were there ; 
but since your people are so bad off for clothes, 
of course it was n’t best to wait.” 

“There ’s really not so much hurry since nia ’s 
gone. It was she who was fretting about it. But 
I ’m real glad you ’ve come, auntie.” 

“So am I. I can’t tell you how I ’ve missed 
you, child ; and I ’m looking forward to having a 
delightful time with you, for here ’s Laney to do 
the sewing. Watson has a piece of homespun in 
his pack, and we ’ll soon get things straight.” 


MISS IIADASSAH^S VISIT. 


209 


Mr. Baird and Alan overtook Miss Hadassah’s 
party, and, finding her in a serene mood, soon all 
were gay. Alan, though he led Bramble, contrived 
to keep near enough to maintain a lively conver- 
sation, and pointed out everything of interest on 
the road ; and their guest reached the house in 
fine spirits. Alan considered it quite a successful 
ride. 

^•We h-e managing very well without ma,’’ he 
boasted to Nettie, in a leisure moment after their 
return. 

Yes, so far. But I hn trembling for the dinner, 
for everything ’s left to Jen.’^ 

^^Well, your aunt will understand that you could 
n’t help it j we had to see ma off in the stage-coach, 
for it was only once in a lifetime.” 

Yes; and auntie was so delighted to be met that 
it seemed very fortunate that we were all there.”' 

' “ That long ride has made us all hungry as bears, 
so maybe we can tolerate Jen’s bad cooking for 
once.” 

^^For once! If that was all, it would n’t so much 
matter; but it ’ll be for all the time ma ’s away, 
think of that! and while auntie ’s here is worse 
still.” 

I reckon she knows what to expect of Jen.” 


210 CniLTIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


“ I know she expects a good dinner, and she ’ll 
certainly be disappointed.” 

Nettie was right. The dinner was a complete 
failure, at which she was very much mortified, and 
tried to apologize. 

“ Jen ’s a horrid cook, auntie. I think it must 
be from having had such small experience ; but it ’s 
too bad that she should give us a dinner we can’t 
eat to-day, after your long journey, when you must 
be so hungry. It really looks as if she meant to 
starve you.” _ 

‘^Well, never mind, child. A poor dinner is a 
rare thing to me, you know. But I pity you if 
you have had to put up with such dishes as these 
often.” 

Oh ! we have n’t. Miss Hadassah,” said Alan 
hastily, thinking to retrieve the family credit. We 
don’t know what poor cooking is any more than 
you do. Ma ’s made sure of that.” 

‘‘We have a first-class cook in Thad,” said Mr. 
Baird. 

“Yes, auntie,” said Nettie. “We ’ll miss his 
dinners. You ’d be well off if Thad was here. But 
ma was n’t satisfied without taking him along with 
her; and now I ’m really in despair over Jen, for I 
reckon she ’s forgotten everything she ever knew. 


3nSS HADASSAH'S VISIT. 


211 


Ma and Thad used to drive her out of the kitchen. 
She ’s only been cooking for Tip and the pickanin- 
nies this long time.’’ 

thought she had the making of a good cook 
in her, Nettie, when I started her off here with 
you. She was in our kitchen some time. I re- 
member I gave her a few lessons myself.” 

So I told ma. But somehow she was always bet- 
ter satisfied to do without her help. She said she ’d 
sooner Jen was away in her quarter, taking care 
of her children. Ma liked quiet, of all things.” 

I don’t wonder, if she often had to listen to 
such a racket as those little nigs are keeping up 
in the dooryard. Why, Alan, they ’re actually 
racing on the porch. 1 wonder you permit it.” 

^^They know ma ’s away,” said Alan. 

“ And have forgotten that I ’m here. That won’t 
be for long.” Miss Hadassah looked grim. 

I told Till to keep them quiet,” said Nettie ; 
“ but her mother seems to want her in the kitchen.” 

Preparing another course of this delectable re- 
past,” thought Miss Hadassah, who was too polite 
to make further audible comment on the dinner. 
But later in the day, when she had her niece to 
herself, she spoke freely, and did not rest till she 
understood all. 


212 


CIIILTIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


^‘Really, Nettie, I in surprised at your sending 
for me. I never imagined you were so cramped 
for room. Your letters gave no hint of it. If 
Phoebe had n’t found it convenient to go away just 
as I came, where could you have put me ? ” 

Nettie hesitated, and looked somewhat chagrined. 
‘‘I don’t know, auntie. Alan said there was no need 
to bother about that, for his ma was such a good 
manager she could easily fix it.” 

Well, Nettie! The way 1 see it, Mrs. Baird 
and Phoebe actually went away to make room, for 
me. Why, child, I ’m so mortified that I ’ve half 
a mind to start for home with Watson to-morrow.” 

Nettie began to cry. 0 auntie ! and leave me 
with Jen ! You know she can’t cook, and I can’t 

teach her. It ’s been just like a delightful visit 

ever since I came to Chilhowee till now. Ma and 
Phoebe did everything to make it pleasant ; and 
Thad kept things going. I don’t see how we ’ll 
get along without him. None of our people seem 
to be of much account.” 

‘‘ So it appears. I’m sorry for it. But they ’re 
all strong and healthy, and can learn, I ’m sure. 

They seemed the right ones for you to take away 

with you, for they were your mother’s property.” 

Yes, I know ; and Alan ’s pleased to own a 


MISS HADASSAH^S VISIT. 


213 


whole family, and Sol besides. But ma says they ’re 
nothing but a bother, and I agree with her when 
it comes to their needing clothes.” 

<^They certainly are ragged. I ’m surprised that 
their clothes went so soon. But, really, Nettie, I 
wish you had managed about them without sending 
for me, since you ’re not in your own house.” 

How could I, auntie ? ” pouted Nettie. “ I did n’t 
know the first thing to do.” 

You could at least have bought a piece of domes- 
tic at the settlement, and made a dress for Jen, or 
showed Till how to do it. That girl had better be 
sewing for her mother than playing ball. I ’ve been 
watching her ever since we began talking. She ’s 
been sitting on a bench beside the beehive mending 
a ball — now she is tossing it with Tray.” 

“ I want her to practise ; sometimes she is the 
only one I can get to play with. She ’s my maid, 
you know, auntie; and I don’t see how I can spare 
her to sew for all her mother’s famify. Why, she ’d 
never be done, and I ’m always finding something 
for her to do for me.” 

0 Nettie, what a child you still are ! You make 
me ashamed. I was in hopes you had bloomed out 
into a competent mistress. But I see they ’ve just 
made a pet of you here as we did at home.” 


214 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

Yes ; ma would n’t let me undertake any duties. 
She said it would be time enough when I got into 
my own house.” 

When Avill that be ? I ’d be out of patience 
waiting for it.” 

That ’s like ma. Alan says he really thinks he 
could have made a start on it by this time, if it 
had n’t been for the unexpected hindrance of getting 
ma olf in a hurry. But it can’t wait forever, for ma 
said positively that she won’t come back till we ’re 
in our new house.” 

^^Ah, that ’s how it is.” Miss Hadassah was be- 
ginning to realize Mrs. Baird’s desperate predica- 
ment. ^‘And here she ’s been doing everything for 
you, even the cooking. You need n’t say no, Nettie.” 

^AVell, Phoebe helped, and Thad.” 

“ How could he ever find time ? I don’t wonder 
his mistress needed a change, and took him along. 
Phoebe deserves credit for pushing the plan through. 
I ’m sorry to miss them all. I ’m beginning to think 
they are the best part of the family. I hope you or 
somebody will tell Mrs. Baird from me, when you 
write, that I think she was perfectly justified in leav- 
ing home. I should certainly have done it myself 
under such circumstances.” 

‘‘It will make her feel better to hear it, auntie. 


MISS HADASSAII'S VISIT. 


215 


Poor ma was sorry as could be about going this 
morning. But Phoebe coaxed so hard that she got 
her off. We really did n’t believe she ’d go.” 

Mr. Baird and Alan, smoking their pipes on the 
porch, felt rather gloomy over the turn affairs had 
taken. 

‘‘We ’re making a poor exchange for ma, Alan,” 
said his father, “ getting Miss Hadassah and her 
tribe instead. AVhat in the world shall we do 
with them ? ” 

“ Oh ! I reckon they ’ll find out how to take care 
of themselves. There ’s one good thing, Watson ’ll 
keep Tip going. He ’ll mind him better than he 
did Thad ; and I intend to see if they can’t make 
a start at that clearing. I ’d like Miss Hadassah 
to take home word that we ’re working for the new 
house. I ’ll spare Sol to help, too.” 

“ What ’ll you spare him from ? going hunting 
with you ? He does n’t do much else.” 

“Well, the hunting ’s going to be more important 
than ever, now. We must have plenty of game 
for the table while Miss Hadassah ’s here. I was 
long enough up at the doctor’s To know what she 
likes. But I can go out without Sol if I must. 
How I miss Miles. He never used to fail me when 
I wanted a hunt.” 


216 CniLHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

I reckon we ’ll need Sol about the place to help 
do Thad’s work, for Watson ’s going home to- 
morrow, so he tells me.” 

Why, pa ! I was thinking he ’d take charge here 
while Miss Hadassah stays. We -shall miss ma and 
Thad, sure enough.” 

^^And Phoebe. I reckon we ’ll find she was of 
some account, too.” 

I wondered how Dr. Thompson could spare 
Watson. But how will Miss Hadassah get home 
unless he waits to tote her ? ” 

‘‘ He ’s coming back when she sends for him. 
The idea was that if she found she and Laney could 
get through with the people’s clothes in a hurry, 
Watson could stay till she was ready to go; but 
there ’s no telling now when that ’ll be, for she ’s 
going to teach Jen to cook before she does any- 
thing else. Laney ’s in the kitchen now, so as to 
make sure Miss Hadassah has something fit to eat 
for supper.” 

^^Well, pa!” laughed Alan, we ’ve got more 
than we bargained for. But Nettie won’t care how 
long her aunt stays. And I ’m certainly ready for 
that supper, after Jen’s dinner.” 

Alan and his father found that a new order of 
things had begun when Miss Hadassah took the 


MISS HADASSAH'S VISIT. 


217 


helm. She even ruled them after a fashion, keeping 
them always on the alert regarding Sol and Tip, who 
needed much oversight in their work. 

She made no critical or disparaging remarks ; but 
Mr. Baird had a feeling that she did not hold him 
in very high esteem, and felt impelled, for his own 
credit, to exert himself more than formerly. Alan 
tried to keep in Miss Hadassah^s good graces, and 
thought he was doing his best ; but he found his task 
harder here at home than in the days he had spent 
under her roof, a light-hearted medical student. 

I declare, pa,’^ said Alan one day, as they were 
riding together, ^^if I had known how things were 
going to turn out, I could n’t have been bribed to 
invite Miss Hadassah to make this visit. Why, I 
feel as if I had to mind my P’s and Q’s the whole 
time, for fear she ’ll tell on me when she goes home ! 
And I ’ve not got a soul to growl to about it but 
you, pa.” Alan laughed, but not with his usual 
light-heartedness. 

You are in a predicament ; can’t even confide in 
Nettie ? ” 

^‘Not when she has her aunt at her elbow. She 
tells her everything. My ! how I wish our folks 
had n’t gone away till this visit was over ! Ma 
could have managed some way, I ’m sure. Then we 


218 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN UABNESS. 


should have made a better show. And it was im- 
portant, I can tell you ! It would have helped me 
to stand well with the doctor.^’ 

I don’t think you ’re the one to complain, Alan. 
In my opinion you ’ll not get right with the doctor 
nor his sister so long as you don’t lift a finger 
towards building your new house. I ’m beginning 
to get my eyes open about it.” 

“Well, pa, it ’s not my fault, I ’m sure, that I 
can’t give any thought to the house now. Don’t you 
see how Miss Hadassah demands my time ? She 
seems to expect me to be constantly dancing attend- 
ance on her. It looks as if Nettie and she had both 
forgotten that I ought to be devoting myself to my 
profession.” 

“ Building up a practice at last, hey ? You ’d like 
your father-in-law to think that patients are flocking 
to you, but Miss Hadassah will take home a different 
story. There ’s nothing like having somebody about 
that can tell tales.” 

“ Yes ; it ’s a bother to think of it. But Miss 
Hadassah ’s always been my friend. I reckon I can 
trust her still 5 and really it ’s well that I have n’t 
many calls for my services just now, when I must 
be fetching in game for Miss Hadassah, or carrying 
her and Nettie out sight-seeing or visiting every 


MISS HADASSAH'S VISIT. 


219 


day. They ’re enjoying themselves; we may be 
glad of that.” 

Yes ; Miss Hadassah seems in high feather since 
she finds Chilhowee is inclined to be sociable. I 
knew our friends would n’t neglect her.” 

One evening Alan was escorting Nettie and her 
aunt home from a call on Janet Murray. As they en- 
tered Baird’s lane they met Tip riding in great haste. 

0 massa ! am dat you ? ” he cried. I wuz goin’ 
after you. Massa Baird he sont me, ’kase Sol hab 
done broke his arm an’ bu’st his head open.” 

What ’s that, Tip ? ” exclaimed Alan, but did not 
wait for response. Nettie, you and your aunt 
won’t mind my leaving you, since we ’re just home.” 
Then he hurried on with Tip. 

‘^We may be needed, Nettie,” said her aunt, ur- 
ging her horse forward. 

Oh ! I wish I had n’t come home,” said Nettie ; 

I hate such things.” 

They found Sol on the porch settle, crying and 
groaning. His fellow-servants stood around him. 

How in the world did this happen ? can you tell 
me, pa ? ” asked Alan as he strode across the porch, 
leaving his father to help the ladies dismount. 

The negroes were all eager with tales of the acci- 
dent, but Till’s voice was the loudest. 


220 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

Bramble throwed him an’ den kicked him, dat ’s 
how Sol got hurted, massa.” 

‘‘Yes, Alan,” said Mr. Baird. “ Sol mounted Bram- 
ble, though Miss Phoebe had positively forbidden 
him to do it. What do you think of that ? ” 

“He ’s well punished for his disobedience, pa. 
He ’s in a heap of trouble now. Here, Sol, let me 
see where you ’re hurt. Which arm is it ? Jen, 
fetch a basin of water so I can see how bad this cut 
on his head is.” 

“You sha’ n’t cut off my arm. Doc Alan, nor sew 
up my head ; no, you sha’ n’t ! ” screamed Sol, fight- 
ing Alan off with his well arm. 

“ I ’m not going to do either, you dunce. This 
is n’t such a bad cut. Laney, won’t you fetch a 
bandage, and I ’ll tie it up. That ought to have 
been done at first.” 

“ We were looking for you every minute, Alan,” 
said his father ; “ and at last I got desperate, and 
started Tip off. If he had n’t found you, he was 
going to ride for Ken or Dr. Smith.” 

“ Why, pa ! That would have been strange, when 
this was the first broken bone I ’ve had a chance to 
set since I started in Chilhowee. HowTong ago did 
it happen, anyhow ? ” 

“Jes’ when I wuz ridin’ Bramble to water, 


MISS HADASSAH'S VISIT. 


221 


massa/’ groaned Sol. ‘‘ Dat pony ’s nothin’ but a 
piece o’ mischief, an’ hates me like pizen.” 

“ ’Cause you all de time teasin’ her,” said Till. 

Yes, he is, massa ; an’ Thad tole him to let her be, 
an’ not darst to come a-nigh her.” 

You had no business to mount her, Sol ; you 
knew you were n’t allowed to,” said Alan. 

I could n’t git her to de creek no other way, 
massa. She won’t be led. She ’s fer boltin’ as 
quick as she sees me. But she can starve an’ swel- 
ter fer all I cares, yes. Bramble can ; I ain’t goin’ to 
do nothin’ mo’ fer her.” 

“Well, now, keep still till I reduce this fracture. 
That pony ’s done for you for a while, I can tell 
you.” Alan’s professional pleasure in performing 
an operation left him when he remembered that it 
was his own servant who was disabled, at a time, 
too, when his services were extremely important. 

Sol screamed and protested about the bone-setting. 
“ You ’re a-makin’ me wuss. Doc Alan, heaps wuss. 
Le’ go, I say. I ’d ruther my arm would git well 
widout you techin’ it. Oh, oh ! jes’ you stop, an’ 
leave me alone, an’ I ’ll tell you all about Bramble. 
’T wuz n’t her fault. She ’s been mad at me eber 
sence I put a burr under her saddle when Miss 
Phoebe wuz goin’ ridin’ ; jes’ oncet I done it, an’ 
dat ’s de solomon truf.” 


222 CIIILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


Well ! ” said Alan. “ That was when Miss 
Phoebe came near being thrown ! If Thad had n’t 
run and caught the bridle, and lifted his mistress off, 
she would like as not have had a broken skull ! ” 

I wondered what made Bramble cut such capers 
that day,” said Mr. Baird, for she ’s as good a 
creature as ever was ; but this young rascal knew her 
weak spot, and did n’t mind risking Miss Phoebe’s 
life for the sake of seeing a little fun.” 

Well, he ’ll pay up for his tricks now,” said his 
master. ‘‘ He ’ll find there ’s no fun in a broken 
arm.” 

Ignorant and frightened Sol resisted all Alan’s 
attempts to set his arm until Miss Hadassah inter- 
posed her authority. All his life he had been accus- 
tomed to obeying her, for she had been the ruling 
spirit at his old master’s. When he heard her voice 
he knew he must submit. 

Mr. Baird and Alan regarded Sol’s accident as a 
great misfortune to themselves. 

u^Ye ’re left awfully short-handed, Alan,” said 
his father, as they walked up and down the garden 
path late in the evening, trying to solace themselves 
with their pipes. “ Why, we ’ve got nobody but Tip 
to look to, and a big family to feed, eleven mouths, 
all told, all ready for their allowance, too. It takes 


MISS HADASSAII^S VISIT. 


223 


someboay forever riding to mill, and there ’s no tell- 
ing when Sol will be able even for that.’’ 

No, the young scamp ’s fixed for a long holiday. 
My ! what a houseful of drones we ’ve got here ! As 
you say, it ’s enough to eat us out of house and home. 
Property is n’t worth having anyhow, unless you can 
make some use of it. I just wish Miss Hadassah 
would take Jen’s two youngest children back with 
her, and keep them till they ’re big enough to work. 
That would please ma. But Nettie says she can’t be 
persuaded to do it, because of the long journey.” 

Of course she ’d sooner you ’d bear the trouble 
and expense of them as long as they ’re yours. But 
I can tell you we lived a great deal more com- 
fortably, and there was more done on the place, when 
we had just our own little family, and Thad to do 
everything for us, than you ’re doing now. Thad ’s 
worth all your niggers put together.” 

Then he ought to be here to help us when we ’re 
in such a scrape as this. I wonder if ma would n’t 
send him home, pa, if she knew you had to ride to 
mill, and do the milking, and fetch in the vegeta- 
bles. It looks as if it was going to come to that.” 

Mr. Baird shrugged his shoulders. “ It sounds as 
if you think I ’ll have my nose to the grindstone, 
sure enough. Well, if I ’ve got to turn drudge, I 


224 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

reckon yon ’ll have to do your share, if you expect 
Miss Hadassah to still think well of you.” 

Ma ’s got to know of our trouble, even if it 
does n’t do any good. I ’ll say she has a heart of 
stone if my letter does n’t move her.” 

“ Don’t bother poor ma just because Sol ’s broken 
his arm. Deally, this is the first holiday she ’s had 
since we were married, and she might as well enjoy 
it.” 

Oh ! I ’m not going to say anything against that. 
It ’s Thad I want. What does he need with a holi- 
day ? Loafing will just spoil him.” 

I reckon not. Thad does n’t know how to be 
idle. He ’ll find something to do down there on the 
old place in Virginia.” 

When Alan’s letter reached Mrs. Baird, it did 
not have quite the effect he had hoped. He had 
first faithfully recorded the message which Miss 
Hadassah insisted upon sending, and which was very 
gratifying to Mrs. Baird and Phoebe. Then came a 
recital of home woes, and some broad hints that 
Thad’s return was very much desired. 

Mrs. Baird read and discussed the letter with her 
sister and Phoebe. “To let Thad go home without 
me is what I shall never agree to,” said she. 

“ Of course not,” said her sister. “ Even for 


MISS HADASSAH^S VISIT. 


225 


Alan^s sake it would be an unwise thing to do ; for, 
from what you and Phoebe tell me, his servants will 
never be worth anything so long as they can depend 
on Thad.’^ 

Alan means that he wants us all to come home,’’ 
said Phoebe; ^‘but he knows it ’s not worth while 
to say it while he ’s still in our house.” 

^‘No, indeed,” said Mrs. Baird, ^‘not while I re- 
member how he has crowded me out. I ’m glad 
Miss Hadassah understands about that. I ’m pleased 
with her polite message. She ’ll help Alan out of 
his tight places. She looked as if she was capable 
of it. And I shall have to forget that dreadful 
journey before I can think of starting home.” 

‘‘I ’m glad you have such good reasons for being 
contented here, for I want you and Phoebe to stay 
for such a long visit as will make you almost for- 
get Chilhowee.” 

^^Well, you ’re doing your best. Aunt Eachel,” 
said Phoebe. ^^You are making it so pleasant that 
I don’t care how long we stay.” 

‘^But I ’m anxious about our two horses,” said 
her mother. This letter really makes me worry 
more about them than about anything else. I ’m 
afraid they ’re hot being well taken care of. It would 
be a great loss if anything happened to them.” 


226 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HABNES8. 

^^Eramble a little beauty, Aunt Kachel, coal- 
black, with a coat like satin. It ’s a shame Sol 
does n’t treat her right ; but I don’t trust him or 
Tip, and I believe they ’re just as bad to ma’s 
horse. I was in hopes pa would take tjare of them.” 

Do call Thad, Phoebe,” said her mother. Maybe 
after he hears the letter, he ’ll tell us something 
to do. I wish we had our horses here to keep them 
safe.” 

“ Oh ! I ’m glad you did n’t take the trouble to 
bring them,” said her sister. You don’t need 
them in the least, with so many on the place.” 

Thad was in Miss Eachel’s garden, trimming her 
roses. As Phoebe ran down the porch steps to call 
him, she thought of a plan, and came back, her 
face all in a glow. 

0 ma ! I want to lend Bramble to little Bessie 
Craig ! She has no pony yet, and she ’ll be glad 
as can be to ride her. I wish I had thought about 
it before we left home.” 

It ’s a good idea, Phoebe ; and I ’ll ask pa to 
take my horse over to Mrs. Craig. They ’re short of 
horses since they let John have Nick, and I think 
they ’ll be glad to have ours while we are away.” 

Thad listened to the letter and the plan with 
great interest and satisfaction. 


MISS HADASSAirS VISIT. 


227 


Send dem bosses to de possonage ! why, sutenly ! 
It ’s mighty kine' o’ little missy to think o’ doin’ 
dat, an’ ’t will be de savin’ o’ de pore beasts, prob’ly. 
Sol had n’t orter hab de keer o’ good bosses; he 
knows how to spile ’em mighty quick. I know it 
by dat pore critter dat tumbled ober de cliff wid me. 
But up to de posson’s dey ’ll keep ’em safe, an’ 
treat ’em right. ’T will be a big load off my mine 
to know dey ’re dere.” 

‘^Yes, and off my mind too,” said his mistress, 
’m going to write the letter now, Thad, and let 
you take it to the post-office.” 

I ’m so glad to get it settled that way,” said 
Phoebe. ^‘Now, Aunt Kachel, I ’m truly going to 
try to forget about home, as you want me to; for 
really Bramble was my greatest burden.” 

Thad, riding to the post, pleased himself with 
cogitating on the home news. “Dey’s in a peck o’ 
trouble dar, seemin’ly, an’ coaxin’ fer to git me 
back to try to mend matters. Well, I belongs to 
mistis, thank de Lord. An’ we ’s heah on de ole 
place, where I was horned an’ riz ; an’ Miss Eachel ’s 
givin’ us a fine time, an’ I ain’t hankerin’ after 
Chilhowee now, no mo’ ’n mistis or little missy am. 
We-all ’s in de humor fer wisicatin’. But it ’pears 
fum dat letter dat massa ’s been ’bleeged to stir 


228 CIIILHOWEE BOYS IN HAENESS. 

his stumps at las’ ; Miss Hadasser ’s done some- 
thin’ pore mistis never could, — she ’s set massa 
goin’, I declar’ ! ” 

When Mr. Baird received his wife’s letter, he at 
once saw the wisdom of her plan ; and Alan and he 
took the two horses to the parsonage with Mrs. 
Baird’s messages. 

“ It looks as if ma had made up her mind to 
stay away a long time,” said Alan, as they started 
on their errand. 

“ Yes, I reckon we ’ll have to offer her some 
inducement before she ’ll think of coming back, 
such as letting her have the use of her own house 
again.” 

Now, pa, I don’t see why you should twit me 
about that. I ’m sure I ’d be glad enough to see 
Miss Hadassah go. It ’s next thing to being saddled 
with a mother-in-law to have her in the house. I ’ve 
found that out — a little too late, though. Here 
I am tied at home, not able to stir out except to 
please her and Nettie, while other folks can get 
fine holidays. Think of Don Craig still off on his 
journey. He ’s the lucky one. He started on the 
same day ma did. That seems a long time ago.” 

Yes ; I had no idea I ’d miss your ma and 
Phoebe so much.” 


MISS IIADASSAH'S VISIT. 


229 


Mrs. Craig willingly accepted the loan of the 
horses ; and Mr. Baird felt relieved, for he thought 
the parson’s stable safer than his. 

At last Miss Hadassah’s visit drew to an end. 
Alan’s people were well clothed, and Jen had been 
trained into a creditable cook. Then Watson came 
for his mistress and her sewing-woman. Nettie 
parted with her aunt reluctantly, and Alan was 
polite enough to express a hope for future visits. 

I ’m not coming again till you get into your 
own house, Alan,” said she. ^‘1 ’m as firm about 
that as your mother is.” 


230 CIIILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 
don’s new world. 

It was Saturday afternoon, and Don was riding 
through the main street of the beautiful little town 
of Bellevue, where he had decided to spend Sunday. 
He looked from side to side of the broad, well-shaded 
thoroughfare, riding slowly, for all was new to him. 

He saw houses standing in pretty gardens. Then 
came the court-house and market, and, farther oh, 
the church, its bell hung in a tree near by. “We 
must call on the minister after we ’ve had our sup- 
per,” said Don to Buncombe. 

Beyond the church were more pretty houses. The 
place was very quiet. Don gave only a casual glance 
at the few people that he passed, till presently a pic- 
ture filled his vision. 

Two figures were coming down the street towards 
him, a lady in a blue dress, like a bit of the sky, he 
thought, and a black girl walking beside her, carrying 
a little spinning-wheel like the one on which his 
mother spun flax. They were on the sidewalk under 





TWO FIGURES WERE COMING DOWN THE STREET TOWARDS HIM, 


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DON'S NEW WOULD. 


231 


the shade-trees, the shadows flitted over them, and 
then glints of sunshine. 

The young lady wore a poke bonnet of leghorn, and 
carried a handsome bead bag on her arm, such as 
Margaret had brought from the East. “ She does n’t 
belong to this part of the world,” thought Don. He 
did not know why he watched, but his eyes seemed 
riveted. Just as they came opposite they entered a 
gate ; and, in the pause of opening it, he saw that the 
lady’s face was beautiful and w'onderfully fair, far 

✓ 

different from any Southern beauty he had ever 
seen. 

Don forgot that he was looking for an inn, and 
continued his ride up the street till he came to the 
last house, a large gray stone in a lawn studded with 
trees, among which was a white winding path. A 
lady in a black dress and white cap walked there, a 
fine shepherd dog keeping pace with her. 

This is indeed a new world,” thought Don. For 
the lady in the garden had a more stately and aristo- 
cratic air than any he had before seen. 

Then he turned about, and presently found his 
lodging-house. In answer to his inquiries his host 
told him that the clergyman of the place was away 
from home, detained on a journey by sudden illness, 
that his wife and the only physican of Bellevue had 


232 CHILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


been summoned, and had gone to him that day. So 
most likely we ’ll be without preaching to-morrow, 
for it’s Dr. Butler who always gets our supplies ; 
but he had no chance this time.” 

After supper, Don, having nothing else to do, took 
a long ride to view his surroundings. In one of his 
turns he found himself again passing the spot where 
he had seen the lady with the spinning-wheel. On 
the porch sat several ladies, each with a little wheel, 
spinning in the twilight, and talking with pleasant 
animation. In the dim distance Don could not dis- 
tinguish one from another. Which is her voice, I 
wonder ? ” 

He turned again ; and, finding a creek at the end of 
one of the streets, he followed its windings, till pres- 
ently the moon shone forth, and the water glittered 
and sang, making him think of Silver Creek. 

When he returned to the village, lights shone in 
all the houses, and the streets were flooded with 
moonshine. A lady and gentleman passed him. It 
is the lady in blue,' going home,” for he heard her 
voice, the same tones that he imagined were hers 
when they sounded in his ear an hour before. Her 
escort carried the little wheel. Don saw the shadow 
of the distaff and flax in the moonlight. 

Later, as he sat in his room, he began to wonder 


DON'S NEW WOELD. 


233 


how he should spend Sunday, with no clergyman, no 
church service, himself a perfect stranger in the 
place. He had letters of introduction to a number of 
people, but to none here. He had expected to spend 
the next day with one of his college mates, but high 
water and bad roads had lengthened his journey. 

It must not be a wasted day. Father would 
write a sermon, if he could n’t preach one or hear 
one.” Don had a few sermons in his bag which his 
father had read and approved ; but he had never 
preached except in Chilhowee church, and he had 
made no promises except to his grandfather, who was 
longing to hear him in the old family church. 

“ If father was here he would n’t let this people 
go hungry to-morrow, but no one will expect a ser- 
mon from me. But I really think I ought to write 
one, rather than spend an idle day.” 

He opened his Bible, and turned over the leaves. 

I wonder how father chooses a text.” The first 
words that caught his eye were, “ Thou art beautiful, 
0 my love, as Tirzah.” 

Instantly he thought of the vision of the after- 
noon. If the. blue robe was like a bit of the sky, 
what was its wearer ? like a bit of heaven truly. 
Her smile made even the poor slave-girl happy ; her 
voice — could he ever forget its charming tones? 


234 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN U ABN ESS. 


Ah, beautiful indeed she was, as Tirzah, and fair 
beyond imagining. I am glad she spins.’’ Don 
did not try to explain to himself why this made him 
glad, or why it should affect him in any way ; but 
many of the happiest hours of his life had been 
spent sitting with his mother while she spun on her 
little flax-wheel. 

He got no farther in choosing a text that evening, 
or in preparing a new sermon, though he sat in deep 
meditation till his candle was burned nearly to the 
socket. 

But the next morning he chose his text, He 
leadeth me.” Don had not listened to his father’s 
story in vain. He believed in a Heavenly Guide. 
He remembered the old wonderful journey of his 
childhood. They often talked of it at home. Par- 
son Craig would say, “ I saw by faith through all 
that dangerous wa}^ the guiding cloud, the fiery pil- 
lar, and still I have my Beacon Light.” 

Don ordered Buncombe fed and saddled while he 
ate his breakfast, resolved to spend the morning in a 
quiet nook beside the creek with his Bible and his 
pocket inkstand. 

There were very few guests at breakfast. While 
still at the table, the host entered with an anxious 
face. 


DON'S NEW WOELD. 


235 


’s time the stage was in. Now word ’s come 
that they We had a terrible upset just as they were 
getting into town; coach broke and passengers all 
shaken up.’’ 

Coming down the hill, the other side of the stone 
house, was n’t it ? ” asked one of the guests. 

<‘Yes, it ’s a very rough road just there; needs 
mending. They say one man was taken up for dead, 
but we ’ll hope that ’s not true. The passengers are 
walking the balance of the way.” 

Don felt thankful that it was not Miles’s coach, 
with Mrs. Baird in it. 

Then an excited voice was heard outside, asking 
for the doctor in breathless haste. 

That ’s Mrs. Hamilton’s Chloe ! ” and the land- 
lord hurried out. The guests heard the conversation 
through the open door. 

<^What ’s happened at Mrs. Hamilton’s, Chloe?” 

Dar ’s a gemlen jes’ bleedin’ to death, an’ de 
madam wants Dr. Butler quick. De coach upset 
t’ other side ob our gate, an’ dey ax could n’t dey 
tote him in, ’cause ’t was handy.” 

‘‘ One of the stage passengers, is it ? Well, now, 
it ’s dreadful that the doctor ’s away, but I thought 
Mrs. Hamilton knew it.” 

Dey ’lowed mebbe he was back by now, an’ Miss 


236 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN H ABN ESS. 

Agnes sont me fiyin’. De gemlen pitched from cPar 
off de stage-coach roof, an’ got ’most killed. He fell 
atop of a big ole mullein, an’ when dey picked him 
up, a piece o’ de stalk was stickin’ in his throat. It 
made de ugliest kind o’ hole, what ’s got ter be 
sewed up, or he ’ll die, sho ; ’cause it ’s bleedin’ 
awful.” 

“ Oh ! why is n’t the doctor here ? Tell Mrs. 
Hamilton I ’ll send him the minute he gets back.” 

Miss Agnes tole me to git help to oncet, ’t won’t 
do to wait.” 

^^Miss Hamilton knows there ’s no other doctor 
in town. But hold on a minute. There ’s a young 
man here, just come yesterday, that maybe is ” — 

The landlord hurried into the breakfast-room, and 
put the question to Don,^ “ Are you a doctor, sir ? 
because ” — 

heard, I know one ’s needed. Ho ; I ’m a min- 
ister.” 

^^Well, I thought you were one or the other. If 
you only were both you might save a man’s life 
to-day.” 

“ I have sometimes sewed up wounds,” admitted 
Don. 

Then use your skill now, by all means,” urged 
his fellow-guests. ^‘This seems a desperate case.” 


DON'S NEW WORLD. 


237 


Your horse is ready saddled, sir,’’ said his host ; 

you could n’t do a better deed to-day than to give 
your help where it ’s so much needed.” 

Don had his little box of remedies in his saddle- 
bags. He was like his father in being always ready 
for emergencies. Not even Kenneth with all his 
training, nor Parson Craig with his life-experience, 
could do simple surgery more skilfully than Don, for 
he was one to whom ten talents had been given. 

He mounted Buncombe without delay. Chloe had 
hurried away on hearing that help was coming. 

^‘You can’t miss the place, sir,” said the host. 

It ’s at the top of Main Street, last house, stands 
far back, with a winding path among the trees.” 

Yes, I know.” Don remembered it from yester- 
day. 

“ Oh ! you ’ve seen it. Well, Mrs. Hamilton, a 
widow lady from the East, lives there, and keeps 
a young ladies’ boarding-school.” 

Buncombe needed no urging; he knew when his 
master was in haste. 

Mrs. Hamilton must be the stately lady I saw 
walking in the garden yesterday. We shall meet 
under strange circumstances,” thought Don, as he 
sped up the street. 

Soon he passed a black girl running in the same 


238 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HABNESS. 


direction, and surmised that she was the messenger 
whom he had heard but not seen. At ajiy rate 
she is the girl who carried the spinning-wheel yester- 
day. I wonder if I am to meet ^ Tirzah,’ beautiful 
^ Tirzah,’ face to face ; possibly she is ^ Miss Agnes.’ 
My errand begins to look more formidable, with no 
one to announce me, or explain matters.” 

But Don was not one to shrink from an important 
call to do good, possibly to save life ; and he 
hastened on. 

His arrival was heralded by the barking of the 
shepherd dog. A young man came from the house 
down the path. Don, throwing his bridle over the 
hitching-post at the gate, hurried to meet him. 
After a word of explanation he found himself beside 
the injured man. Several gentlemen, his fellow- 
travellers, were in the room, doing what they could 
for him, as were also Mrs. Hamilton and her daughter 
Agnes, who Don saw at a glance was ^ Tirzah ! ’ 

It was a trying moment to the would-be surgeon ; 
but Don was one whose very presence inspired confi- 
dence, and his first words and touches gave assu- 
rance of success. 

Soon the stitches were placed, and bandages se- 
curely adjusted. Don had never before had such a 
formidable task, but he had all the help he needed. 


DON'S NEW WOBLD. 


239 


He saw that Agnes’s firm but gentle fingers did the 
most skilful work ; and he thought how favored was 
the sick one to whom those beautiful white hands 
might minister. 

Through it all the patient seemed to be uncon- 
scious; it was not known whether it was from loss 
of blood, or from some serious hurt which they in 
their inexperience could not locate. 

The travellers, unable to do more, soon went to 
the inn ; but Don, finding it would be a relief to Mrs. 
Hamilton if he remained, took his seat by the sufferer. 
The ladies flitted in and out in noiseless fashion. 

Mrs. Hamilton, in gray dress and morning cap, 
and with such unexpected care and anxiety sud- 
denly thrust upon hdr, was the same stately, dig- 
nified lady whom he had seen pacing the lawn the 
day before; while Agnes seemed even more like 
heaven, now that he saw her eyes. Was there ever 
such celestial blue ? such sweet sympathy in every 
glance ? The mother’s eyes were far different, 
black, deep-set, with the sharpest and quickest of 
glances — eyes that could command and rule. The 
contrast struck Don forcibly. The son, Jasper, re- 
sembled his mother. 

Once Agnes brought a bowl of arrow-root, but 
there was no feeding one in the invalid’s state. 


240 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

^^His pulse grows a little better,” said Don, in 
answer to her disappointed look. He noted the ex- 
quisite make of the china bowl in her hand, the 
crest, lettered in gold, and the silver spoon of the 
daintiest pattern. I am glad she spins,” again 
thought Don. He wondered that she did perform 
so homely a task ; it seemed the one thing in com- 
mon with his own plain but happy home, and the 
mother Avhom he loved beyond all other women. 

The house was quiet as Sunday and sickness com- 
bined could make it. He saw from the window a 
group of girls, evidently the boarding scholars, 
strolling in the garden, talking with animation of 
the day’s events, of course ; but in the distance not 
a syllable nor a ripple of laughter could be heard. 

He felt very anxious as he watched his patient, 
and wondered what more he ought to do for him. 
He had been told that he was a man of note. Judge 
Talbot, just appointed to the Supreme Court, and 
now on his way to take his seat ; stricken down, 
perhaps fatally, just when his highest ambition was 
gratified. He was a handsome man, in the prime of 
life, but now swathed in bandages, pallid as death. 
Don sent up a prayer for him to One mightier than 
he. 

At last the physician came. After a short con- 


DON^S NEW WORLD. 


241 


ference, Don was glad to leave his case with one 
who seemed so competent as Dr. Butler. 

He rode towards the creek ; he wanted the woods 
and water to refresh him after his unusual experience. 

This is the Avay we write sermons/’ remember- 
ing the Bible and inkstand he had put in his saddle- 
bags. But it ’s a good text. I ’ve learned a lesson 
on it to-day. Wonderful leading this has been ! not 
my own way, certainly. I ’ll write that sermon to 
preach to grandpa.” 

He rode up and down the bank till the dinner 
hour. At the inn he found Dr. Butler, just returned 
from his patient, and they dined together. 

The judge is improving,” said Dr. Butler. He 
has good prospect of pulling through ; and, humanly 
speaking, he owes his life to you, Mr. Craig. You 
did your work well.” 

It is a great relief to me to hear you say so. 
I feared it was otherwise. I never before took such 
formidable stitches in my small experience.” 

I can believe it ; but it ’s good to be able to 
do a thing like that, to be an emergency man. I 
hope Judge Talbot may live to thank you. He ’s 
wonderfully well fixed at Mrs. Hamilton’s.” 

^‘Yes, they seem to know the best way of doing 
things there.” 


242 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

“ It ’s a pity such a busy household should have 
more care, but what a boon to a lonely man like 
the judge to be there ; why, Miss Agnes’s voice in 
itself will half cure him.” 

Before parting. Dr. Butler invited Don to preach 
for them that evening. 

The request was so unexpected that Don hesitated. 

I have scarcely begun my work. Thus far I have 
really sewed up more cuts than I have preached 
sermons.” 

Yes ; but here is an opportunity to exercise 
your chosen calling. Newness in a work dpes n’t 
mean unfitness.” The doctor was a man of quick 
discernment. He had been very favorably impressed 
by what he had seen and heard of Don that day. 

If I had known you would be here I should have 
been glad to have you preach this morning also. 
It would have been a great comfort to Mr. Foster 
to know that his place was filled. Poor man, he- is 
twenty miles off, very ill with a fever. I was with 
him all last night.” 

“ And I was with your new patient at church- 
time this morning.” 

Yes ; your attendance there was doubtless one 
of ‘ the good works ordained for you to walk in.’ I 
should like to hear a sermon on that text some day.” 


DON^S NEW WORLD. 


243 


The church-bell rang early candle-lighting.” 
When Don faced the congregation he was surprised 
to see that the church was quite full. He had de- 
cided to preach the same sermon which he had first 
preached in Chilhowee church, remembering how his 
father had been pleased with it. Like David, the 
shepherd lad, he Avas glad to have a tried weapon. 

But how different his present listeners from the 
old friends in the old church ; these were but friends 
of a day. There were Dr. Butler and others from 
the inn. Presently his eye rested on Agnes Ham- 
ton. Beautiful as Tirzah ! ” What thoughts rushed 
into Don’s mind ! Here was a text for meditation, 
not for speech. With difficulty he forced himself 
to remember his present duty. 

As he announced his text, he thought, .“If I could 
but look into my father’s and mother’s eyes as at 
the first, how easy this task would be.” Then the 
thought came to him, “ The Lord is in His holy 
temple.” Yes, he was in the presence of the One 
who had loved him first and best. It was His mes- 
sage he was proclaiming. “ Come.” And Don 
preached, he knew not how, but as seeing Him who 
is invisible. 

Early the next morning Don started again on his 
travels. He had a full list of places of interest to 


244 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


visit, but his two great points were his grandfather’s 
and Leighton Hall. Now, after yesterday’s strange 
events, with the vision of Agnes Hamilton still fill- 
ing his mind, he suddenly resolved to go to Leigh- 
ton Hall first of all. “ I must see Eleanor Gordon, 
then I shall know what is dream, and what reality.” 

In his early boyhood, when he first knew Leigh 
and his story and Eleanor’s, the thought had come 
to him that some day she might be his bride. His 
great love for Leigh fostered the idea, and made it 
pleasant to him ; but they were a boy’s thoughts, 
never put into words, even to himself. He had 
had only one short glimpse of Eleanor, in the bright 
days long ago when, she came to Chilhowee for 
her brother’s wedding. Then Don was still a boy, 
dreaming but not speaking of what might be in 
the far-off time. But now, it was a man’s heart 
that was throbbing, and he was awake. The placid 
dream had vanished, swept away like the merest 
cobweb by the events of the last few hours. 

Long before he reached Leighton, Don knew for 
a certainty that Eleanor Gordon would never be 
his bride. 


BON AT LEIGHTON HALL. 


245 


CHAPTER XIX. 

DON AT LEIGHTON HALL. 

Don did not wonder that Leigh Gordon had 
missed his home and longed for it, when he saw how 
beautiful it was. Leigh met him by the lake, look- 
ing happier than Don had ever seen him ; no brother 
could have received a warmer welcome. 

My cup of joy is full,’’ said Leigh ; to see you 
here, Don, fulfils the last of my longings.” 

How we have waited for this day ! ” 

And now it has come in the happiest time.” 

Don knew what Leigh meant ; for a little heir had 
lately come to Leighton, crowning all Leigh’s other 
blessings. 

“ I have been eager to congratulate you, Leigh ; 
what more can be given you ? ” 

Think of it, Don, I who was once so lonely ! ” 

The sun glittered on the lake. Don remembered 
Leigh’s tragic story. Here was the scene of it ; 
here on the bank his father lay dead long years ago. 
And now again it was well with Leigh, he had others 
to love, the gap was filled. 


246 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


They rode up the broad avenue, the sun shone on 
the hall windows ; a group of young ladies stood on 
the porch, Don saw Eleanor among them. Jubal 
came forward to take the horses. 

Buncombe has n’t forgotten you, J ubal,” said 
Don.. 

No, Marse Don, ’kase I been bearin’ you an’ him 
in mine, frequent. I ’s pow’ful glad to see you 
heah, sah.” 

Eleanor’s welcome was cordial as could be. The 
other ladies were cousins, Mr. Winsted Leigh’s 
daughters, with whom Eleanor’s girlhood had been 
spent. In the broad hall he found Lucy, placid and 
radiantly happy, beautiful as on her wedding-day, 
when he had last seen her. Beside her stood old 
mammy, not wrinkled and careworn, but seeming 
to have new youth and vigor in the joyous cares 
which had fallen to her lot; in her arms she held 
the fair, white-robed baby. 

0 Don ! ” said Lucy, “ you are the one we 
wanted most to see ! ” 

“And here is what we wanted you to see most,” 
said Leigh, taking his baby in his arms. “Our Win- 
sted Leigh Gordon ! the first heir among all the 
Ohilhowee boys ! ” What joyful triumph shone in 
the happy father’s eyes, as he gazed at the tiny 


BON AT LEIGHTON HALL. 


247 


creature, the latest but most precious of his posses- 
sions. 

“ He was sent to the right place. You are the 
Chilhowee boy who has most for an heir.’’ 

It is wonderful what hopes can centre in a life 
that ’s just beginning ! Here, Don, I ’ll trust my 
baby to you, though he ’s worth his weight in gold.” 

You may feel it a compliment, Don, that 
mammy ’ll let you hold him without a protest,” 
laughed Lucy. 

I kin trust Marse Don ; I I’arnt dat long ago.” 

“You ’ll think little Win belongs to mammy, when 
you see how she dotes on him,” said Leigh. 

“ And how we ask her leave when we want posses- 
sion of our own child for a little while,” added 
Lucy. 

“ Little Marse Win ’s de biggest blessin’ dat eber 
wuz, Marse Don,” said mammy, as she reclaimed 
her treasure. “ I likes nothin’ better than to wuk 
for him.” 

“ Yes,” said Leigh ; “ and soon little Marse Win will 
be demanding Jubal’s services as well, a nurse and 
a body-servant for this little mite of humanity.” 

“ And here ’s a whole houseful of people to love 
him,” said Eleanor, “ and be pleased even when he 
only winks his eye.” 


248 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

‘‘Eeally, Don/’ said Leigh, ‘‘he engrosses my 
time and thoughts so, that if it was n’t for Ned’s 
devotion to business, I ’m afraid our law practice 
would suffer. I have an invaluable partner in my 
good brother-in-law.” 

“ I hope he ’ll not be too busy to come out to see 
me.” 

“ He ’s not here near as often as he ought to 
be,” said Lucy, “ considering he is an uncle for 
the first time.” 

“ But he ’s very much set up by the fact, Lucy,” 
said Eleanor. 

“ He ’ll certainly come, Don, as soon as he knows 
you ’re here. I ’ve sent a messenger to town. He 
spent every evening with us while George and 
Alice were here.” 

In those first hours Don had much to hear and 
to tell, and then he was interested in studying 
Eleanor. She was a brunette, very attractive, with 
a pleasant, winning manner like Leigh’s. Wealth 
and prosperity did not seem to have spoiled this 
brother and sister. She pleased Don more than her 
two lively young cousins, though they were also 
pretty and agreeable. 

She reminded him of Leigh as he knew him in 
Chilhowee, when he was not so happy as now. 


DON AT LEIGHTON HALL, 


249 


“Leigh has so many new ties that he no longer 
grieves over past losses and sorrows, but Eleanor 
still remembers,” thought Don, as he saw her pen- 
sive look in the pauses of animated talk. 

Involuntarily he contrasted her with Agnes, and 
wondered what his feelings towards her would have 
been if he had not spent those hours in Bellevue, 
the remembrance of which still thrilled him. 
“How glad I am that I saw Agnes before coming 
here ! ‘ He leadeth me.’ ” But what hope had he 

that he should ever see her again ? Even now she 
might not be free ; and, if she was, there were at 
least Dr. Butler and the judge to be feared. It 
might be that this one precious memory was all 
he would have regarding her. Well, so let it be. 
He had made his choice. 

The next morning Leigh made up a riding-party 
to show Don some of the beauties of the estate. All 
the ladies except Lucy joined it. 

“ I hope you will enjoy our views as much as 
Ken and Dr. Pratt did,” said Leigh, on starting. 

“ But we ’ll not be affronted if you don’t think 
them superior to Chilhowee,” said Eleanor. “The 
glimpse I had of your mountain and valley enchanted 
me. I treasure my deed to White Apple, and 
dream of some day setting up my tent there.” 


250 CIIILTIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

A tent would be a good idea,” said Don, for 
the lodge has gone to ruin ; but the place can never 
lose its beauty.” 

“If you would only go and reign there, Eleanor, 
as you once talked of doing,” said Anne Leigh, 
“ I should certainly visit you, if it was only to 
see Major Logan’s Indian bride.” 

“ And I too,” added her sister Maude. “ It ’s 
hard to believe all your stories about her. Do you 
really think she ’s happy, Mr. Craig ? ” 

“ She seems to be. Miss Leigh ; and what ’s more 
to the purpose, my mother says she is.” 

“Then it must be so,” said Leigh. “We can 
trust Mrs. Craig’s word.” 

“ The major certainly seems to be very happy.” 

“ His marriage surprised us all,” said Anne, “ my 
father especially ; he said love was blind, truly. 
You couldn’t have done such a thing, Mr. Craig.” 

“No.” Don thought of Agnes; there could not 
be a greater contrast to Nacoochee. 

“ But we need not be surprised when we remem- 
ber Pocahontas,” said Eleanor. “ Think how proud 
her descendants are ! ” 

“ But when it comes to one’s own family it seems 
different,” persisted Anne. “ To be sure, Nacoochee 
is a beauty and an heiress.” 


DON AT LEIGHTON HALL, 


251 


Perhaps Cousin Robert married her for her 
money/^ said her sister. 

Oh, no, never ! ’’ cried Leigh ; our family don’t 
do that ! ” Then he remembered his Uncle Philip 
Gordon’s thwarted project, and was suddenly silent. 

In the afternoon they all went on the lake except 
Eleanor, who begged Lucy to take her place. 

‘^Eleanor does n’t care for boating as she did at 
AVinsted Park,” said her cousins. 

Oh, yes ! but it ’s my turn to worship the baby, 
as it was Lucy’s this morning. AVe can’t let mammy 
have all the pleasure alone in little Marse AA^in.” 

The lake afforded most delightful boating. AVhen 
they returned they found Ned Pratt waiting for 
them at the landing. 

That evening Don had a double study, Ned as 
well as Eleanor. He had been surprised to learn 
from Mrs. Pratt that Ned wished to give up his 
flourishing law practice, and come home to Chil- 
howee, where there was comparatively little to do ; 
and now again he was puzzled on finding that he 
needed special urging to bring him to Leighton. 
“ AVhy should that be ? ” The thought set Don 
watching. 

Before long he had decided that Ned was spe- 
cially interested in Eleanor, and pleased to be in 


252 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

her society, but that he took pains to hide his 
preference. “He does it well, if he wants her not 
to know. I wish she did care for him, but she 
seems quite indifferent. And here are Leigh and 
Lucy too serene and happy to notice this little rift. 
I wonder at their blindness.’^ 

But in spite of Don’s thoughts the evening was 
delightfully spent. Ned sang for them ; he had a 
fine voice. The gay young cousins filled all gaps 
with lively talk. 

The next morning Ned returned to town immedi- 
ately after breakfast. “ I am sorry to leave you, 
Don; but since Leigh gives me a chance to make 
my fortune by doing his work, I must not neglect 
it.” 

“ I shall expect you to devote all your leisure 
moments to me, Ned,” replied Don. 

“He has promised,” said Lucy. “He ’s very good 
about coming out when we have a special attraction 
for him.” 

The morning was spent in another long ride. 
After his return Don waited for dinner in the broad 
upper hall, which was hung with pictures. Eleanor, 
who saw him studying an old portrait, stopped to 
explain. “These pictures are puzzles to a stranger, 
but each one has a story.” 


BON AT LEIGHTON HALL. 


253 


She was at first all animation ; but presently her 
face clouded as they paused before a group of por- 
traits, each of which bore some resemblance to her- 
self. 

These are our family pictures; I want you to 
see them. Leigh has told you how ’’ — She turned 
away. 

Don studied the portraits. Leigh’s story of his 
father’s death was plain in his mind. Mammy 
covered the pictures with a sheet,” Leigh had said. 
Now that they were uncovered, evidently Eleanor 
could not bear to look at them. 

There was the handsome young father, the beauti- 
ful mother, Leigh, a bright manly boy, and Eleanor, 
a most charming little girl. 

Uncle Winsted says they are very like.” She 
spoke with her face still averted. remember 

how happy I was when they first hung here. But 
•soon after, all that great trouble came — and I know 
I have never looked nor felt like that child since.” 

can understand. I know how Leigh grieved. 
But he is happy now.” 

Yes ; he began to be comforted at Chilhowee 
Parsonage. I remember his letter about his first 
visit there. It made me feel that I could never 
be contented till I had seen you all. How long I 


254 CHILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


waited for my one little glimpse, but even that was 
worth the journey.’’ 

Every one wore his happiest face then.” 

‘^Yes; but Leigh said it was always so there. 
He called it the Happy Valley. Here things grow 
sadder to me ; I cannot bear to look at the pictures 
nor the lake. I do not know how Leigh could have 
borne it to come back, if he had not had a hope 
from the first that some day Lucy would be here 
to make things bright; and now, with her and little 
Win, who could be happier ? ” 

“ It delights me to see it.” 

‘^Yes, I am glad. But he does n’t need me. I 
miss that. Then I think of White Apple ; how I 
should like to live there, and be kind to Nacoochee ; 
and there are others. Your sweet cousin Alice, 
when she was here, told me how lonely her mother 
was, now she had left her; and I picture to myself 
how pleasant it would be to be near enough to 
comfort her.” 

^‘That would certainly please Aunt Emma; she 
does need comfort, though she has been very brave 
about Alice — I can’t tell you how much they are 
to each other.” 

It pleased Don to find Eleanor talking to him as 
to a brother. She has learned it from Leigh. But 


DON AT LEIGHTON HALL. 


255 


it ’s a pity I can’t talk to her as to a very own sister. 
If I could, I ’d tell her to smile on poor lonely Ned, 
and be happy by making him happy.” 

All too soon came the last evening of Don’s visit. 
Ned, faithful to his promise, was again there. 

Come out for a little row on the lake, Ned,” said 
Don ; I like it best at sunset.” 

After some conversation about Don’s next day’s 
journey, Ned said, You need n’t be surprised if I’m 
soon back in Chilhowee, Don. Now that I ’m the 
only one of the family left without other ties, I really 
think it ’s my duty to devote myself to mother.” 

Forsake this charming circle, and a growing 
practice ! Why, Ned, I heard your mother arguing 
against it herself not long ago.” 

Yes, I know her views. She is the most unselfish 
of mothers. And of course with Margaret and Ken 
just come home, she thinks she does n’t need me; 
but I ’d be a great deal to her if I was there. Why, 
Don, I think my heart would break if I did n’t 
have mother to live for, for she ’s the only one 
left. There was a time when she could n’t do with- 
out me. Don’t you remember, all through the war 
she could n’t spare me even to go to college ? Look- 
ing back now, those seem my happiest days — when 
I was important — to some one.” 


256 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

Why don’t you follow George’s example, and 
your sisters’, and be happier than ever by making 
yourself of the first importance to some one ? ” 
Ned paused before answering; in the gathering 
twilight Don could not see his face. ‘‘ There is only 
one that I ever thought of ; and there have been great 
obstacles in the way, — are still, I imagine.” 

“ Would you mind being a little more explicit ? 
What are the obstacles ? ” 

Now Ned looked full at Don. “ Tell me first, 
please, do you intend to marry Eleanor ? ” 

“No, I do not.” 

Ned was evidently surprised at Don’s positive 
answer. “ I have really thought you did. Nothing 
could please Leigh better.” 

“ But pleasing Leigh is not the first consideration 
in such a matter.” 

“ No ; but I imagined Eleanor was your choice, for 
she is — oh, perfection ! Oh ! it has been a long 
delusion, and has kept me from ” — 

“Don’t let it hinder you any longer from happi- 
ness ; for truly Eleanor can never be anything more 
to me than she already is, the sister of my dearest 
friend.” 

Don’s words were convincing, though he gave no 
reason. “I cannot say more,” thought he. “I do 


BON AT LEIGHTON HALL, 


257 


believe Ned thinks Eleanor has refused me ; another 
delusion, but it won’t stand in his way as the first 
did. Good, generous fellow, to love me through 
It all ! ” 

For a time Ned’s thoughts were too busy for 
words ; then he said, There are other hindrances, 
Don. Think of my small income beside Eleanor’s 
fortune.” 

‘‘And yet you saw nothing in my way, though a 
clergyman’s salary will be even less.” 

“I know what you are to Leigh; that covers 
everything. I am his brother-in-law and his college 
mate, to whom he has been generous almost beyond 
belief ; but you are even nearer to him, like a best 
loved brother ; I saw that in the years we were 
together.” 

“ Leigh had an aching heart when we first met ; 
[that ’s what made me so much to him, I think. But 
take my advice, Ned, and marry Eleanor, then you 
will be doubly his brother-in-law; what closer ties 
could you have ? ” 

“ It ’s easily said, Don ; but Eleanor has never 
seemed to care for me. That is really the most 
hopeless feature in the case.” 

“ How could she possibly show her feelings when 
you take such pains to conceal yours ? I like her 


258 CniLHOWEE BOYS IN HABNESS. 


the better for her reserve, and so do you, I know. 
But you ’re both longing for Chilhowee — that ’s 
a curious coincidence. And there ’s an opening to 
build up a law practice, for Major Logan ’s too 
devoted to geology and Indian legends to take hold. 
Turn White Apple into a paradise, Ned, and let 
Eleanor have the home she needs, where she can be 
the bright happy creature her childhood promised.” 

“ 0 Don, what a world this would be if all were 
as hopeful as you are ! ” 

That evening was the brightest of all. Ned sang 
with Eleanor with evident pleasure. He has taken 
heart,” thought Don. 

Leigh lamented the shortness of Don’s visit. 
‘^We want you again soon. We want you often. 
This has brought back the old times so vividly that 
I don’t know how to do without you, Don. Oh ! this 
world is too wide when friends must be so far apart.” 

^^We shall bear each other so in mind, Leigh, 
that our thoughts and hearts will meet, though we 
cannot travel the long road.” 

The next morning Don left Leighton. Ned rode 
out of his way to bear him company for a while. 

I shall make a strong pull for paradise,” he said 
at parting ; and if I am so fortunate as to gain it, 
I shall thank you, Don.” 


BON AT LEIGHTON HALL. 259 

And now again Don had leisure for his own 
happy thoughts, which made his long ride seem a 
short, blissful journey. 

What a welcome Don received when he reached 
his grandfather’s house ! 

Do you really know me, grandma ? ” 

Know you, Don ! How could I forget ! You 
are the same dear child I have waited for all these 
years.” 

Don is his father as he first left us,” said Grand- 
father Craig. 

‘‘0 grandpa, I ’m glad you think so!” 

How Don talked ! and yet how glad he was to 
listen. To the grandparents it was like having their 
own son with them again, young and joyous. They 
gazed at the bright face, wishing that parting might 
never again come. Don pleased them by remem- 
bering what he had seen when he was there long 
before, and by his eagerness to see all again. 

His grandfather lent him another horse while 
Buncombe rested. I ’m glad you have a chance 
to try Chestnut, for I intended him for John. I 
was trying to find a way to send him to Chilhowee, 
when your father wrote to tell me that he had 
gone from home.” 

It would have delighted John to have such a 


260 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

horse. He a beauty, and goes splendidly. John ’s 
missed a great deal.'' 

Yes ! Well, perhaps he may yet deserve him. 
But I 'm glad he did n't have him on those break- 
neck rides you have told us about, for I 've made 
a great pet of Chestnut.” 

<^John writes as if he was delighted with his 
adventures ; he boasts of getting through without a 
scratch, and now that he 's making money he 's 
very proud. Still, father thinks he '11 some day 
come back, and love his home as well as any of us 
do.” 

I hope so. He may be all the happier in it for 
having seen something of the world.” 

^‘It 's good to travel, I 've found that out. I 
really did n't think I coiild settle down till I had 
taken this journey that I had been counting on so 
long. But now that I have seen you and Leigh, I 
can't tell you how satisfied I feel. I am beginning 
to be eager for work. I am to help father till some- 
thing else offers.” 

It was the conviction of the old folks that this 
young clerical grandson would soon find an open- 
ing. This opinion was strengthened by hearing him 
preach. They longed to have him settled near them. 
What pleasure to be able to listen to his voice in 


DOiV AT LEIGHTON HALL. 


261 


the house of God ! When it came to parting, they 
thought, with Leigh, that the world was too wide. 

When will you come again, Don ? ” asked grand- 
ma. On your wedding journey, as Ken did ? 
Margaret pleased us well. I hope you will make 
as good a choice.’^ 

He will,” said grandpa. We can trust him 
for that. And you know how we’ll welcome and 
love your bride, Don.” 

“I hope you’ll love me even if I come alone. I 
don’t know that I shall ever have a wedding jour- 
ney.” Don was glad it was time to go, since this 
was a subject on which he could not talk. 


262 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


CHAPTER XX. 

COLONEL Fletcher’s camp. 

There was a call waiting for Don when he reached 
home. A little church in Powell’s Valley, Virginia, 
invited him to be their minister. 

“ I know the place,” said Parson Craig. It is 
almost the nearest point to us across the State line, 
about three days’ ride from here.” 

I ’m glad it ’s so near.” A three days’ journey 
seemed short to Don after his recent travels. 

‘‘ It is among simple farmer folk, a good many 
poor, none too rich; I think it may be a satisfac- 
tory field for you.” 

It ’s where work is waiting,” said his mother. 

That makes it the best place.” 

It is better than I hoped for, to hear of work 
so soon. I ’m ready ; my holiday has been long 
enough.” 

Don had only a few bright days for home. He 
told the story of his travels. He was a good story- 
teller, even his father could detect no gap in the 


COLONEL FLETCHER'S CAMP. 


263 


narrative ; but he omitted all mention of the Ham- 
iltons and the judge’s accident, though he would 
have been glad to hear his father’s and Kenneth’s 
opinions on his last attempt at surgery. 

You have had just what I wanted for you,’’ 
said his father ; a few weeks of unalloyed pleas- 
ure before buckling on your armor for your life- 
work, in which, doubtless, you will encounter much 
toil and anxiety ; but it is the most blessed of 
all work.” 

Yes, I am glad I have chosen it.” 

His mother felt that now she must truly learn to 
live without Don, as she helped him pack his few 
home treasures. This was different than any other 
going away. 

Now there are three boys to get letters from,” 
said Alec, when post-day came round. 

Letters from the absent sons were the great in- 
terest now. With Hugh doing mission-work among 
the Indians, and Don in his new field, and John 
far down the Mississippi, seeking his fortune, post- 
day was almost sure to bring some important mis- 
sive. 

For some time John had seemed satisfied with his 
position in Natchez, but now he wrote of disaster. 

<<Our firm has become bankrupt, lost everything. 


264 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

I might have known things were going wrong, for 
they kept back part of my money every week ; 
lately did n’t pay me anything. I thought it was 
safe with them, and I ’d get it when I needed it. 
Now I have n’t much more than when I landed 
here, after all the hard work I ’ve done. Well, 
it ’s enough to take me to New Orleans, and T ’ve 
still got Nick. 

“I ’ve been so busy lately that I had hardly any 
time to ride him, and one of the partners tried to 
coax him from me, — said he would pay me a good 
price; but I reckon he would have kept most of 
the money back, as he did my salary, so I ’m glad I 
did n’t agree. I ’m just waiting now for a boat 
to take me down the river. I ’ll write again when 
I stop somewhere.” 

What trouble our poor John is in,” said his 
mother, who felt even more distressed because his 
father was absent when this letter came. 

“Oh! I wish John would come home,” said Bes- 
sie. “ Why don’t you say he must, mother ? ” 

“ I hope he will want to some day. That will 
be a great deal better.” 

“ John ’s never going to turn back till he ’s seen 
New Orleans, and has a pocket full of money,” 
said Alec. “ That ’s what he told me before he 


COLONEL FLETCHER'S CAMP. 


265 


went away. Bat how ’s he going to get any money 
when people cheat him so ? ” 

There were some long, anxious weeks of waiting 
before the next letter came. At last one arrived 
with the New Orleans post-mark. 

He ^s got there ! ’’ cried Alec, feeling that now 
all John’s troubles were over. 

’ve just reached here,” wrote John, ^<and I 
have bad news to tell. I started down on a flat- 
boat ; but before long we got caught on a sawyer, 
and could n’t get loose any way. It was in the 
night, and we went all to pieces. I swam ashore 
with some of the men. I lost everything but my 
money. Poor Nick was drowned ; that ’s the worst 
thing. I don’t know how to do without him. Oh ! 
I tried so hard to save him, but I could n’t ; he 
got tangled in the wreck some way, and it was 
pitch dark. 

“ I walked here with two of the boat-hands ; we 
were seventeen days on the road, for we lost our 
way, and got stuck in a good many marshes. I was 
wet up to the knees most of the time, and my shoes 
wore out, and I blistered my feet. 

But now I ’m here ! that ’s the only good thing 
about it. This is the very place where General Jack- 
son gained the great victory; and I ’ll get to see all 


266 CniLHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


the places and things that Uncle Will and Uncle 
Alec and Mr. Webster told us about. I writing 
at the post-office. I came here first thing, and got 
your letter. Now I’m going to find work. I ’ll be 
rich yet ; nobody need think I’m going to give up.” 

This letter, of course, caused even more consterna- 
tion and anxiety in the little home circle than the 
previous one. 

Oh, my poor dear boy ! he seems utterly bereft,” 
said his mother. If we only had him once more 
safe under our own roof, how thankful I should be. 
But he does n’t write as if his thoughts were turned 
towards home, even after all these losses and hard- 
ships.” 

No,” said his father, “ the letter shows what a 
determined character John’s is. Giving up is the 
hardest thing in the world for him. ' And if he even 
wanted to come home it would be almost impossible, 
with a slim purse and no horse. Poor John ! I must 
write at once. If he will agree to come home, I will 
send him the necessary means.” 

Mrs. Craig felt relieved and hopeful when the 
letter was posted, and she began to think how she 
would welcome her dear wandering boy. 

The next mail brought a short letter from John. 
His father was again absent. 


COLONEL FLETCHER'S CAMP. 


267 


<^New Orleans is a dreadful place just now,” wrote 
John, because there ’s so much sickness. I can’t 
find any work here, and I ’m going away to-day with 
some surveyors to help them. I don’t know yet 
where we ’ll travel ; but we ’ll be far away from any 
post-office, I believe.” 

Oh, my poor lost boy ! ” said Mrs. Craig. Her 
grief was greater because she knew John must have 
left New Orleans before it was possible for him 
to receive his fathers letter urging him to come 
home ; now how could they trace him ? 

“Every time John writes it makes us sorrier,” 
said Bess. 

“It ’ll be worse if he stops writing,” said Alec. 
“I just reckon he ’s gone to the Indian country; 
and maybe he ’ll live there always, and can’t ever 
get any more letters from us.” 

John Craig’s position in New Orleans was even 
more desperate than his letter indicated. He had 
been obliged to spend most of his small savings in 
buying clothes, and had not enough money left to 
pay for a passage anywhere, though he was warned 
to leave the city if he valued his life. Under such 
circumstances he took very little pleasure in see- 
ing the sights for which he had longed. 

Then he met a party of surveyors fleeing from the 


268 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

city, and agreed to work for them. He regretted 
that he had not studied surveying with his father 
when he had the opportunity ; for now he could have 
secured a fine position with high wages, instead of 
working hard and receiving very little pay. 

His employer lent him a horse. There was a 
great deal of rough riding to do, and the horse was 
not as good as poor Nick. 

He resolved to buy a gun with the fii*st money he 
received. 

They had an Indian guide, for there was a vast 
wilderness to be crossed before reaching the first 
tract of land to be surveyed. John felt safe with 
such a large party of responsible men. I am see- 
ing a great deal of the world,” thought he. 

He was always tired enough to rest when camping- 
time came ; but when the men found that he knew 
how to mix and bake hoe-cake, that task always fell 
to him, and often the broiling or roasting of the 
meat. 

“ This is more than I bargained for,’’ tired John 
would think, as he toiled over his task, while his com- 
panions lolled about, smoking, or playing cards. The 
Indian fed the horses, and gathered wood for the fire. 

When the surveying began, John found that he 
had work that tried his patience greatly. It kept 


COLONEL FLETCHER'S CAMP. 


269 


him running back and forth. It seemed to him that 
he ran many miles in the course of the day. Colonel 
Pletcher’s voice sounded very sharp as he shouted 
out his directions ; he had no patience with John’s 
mistakes, though he knew he was only a learner. 

‘‘ Nobody ever talked this way to me at home,” 
thought John. I ’ll be glad when this engagement 
is over.” 

He felt that his supper and his night’s rest were 
well earned ; but, tired as he was, he found that he 
was still expected to be cook for the whole party. 
John was angry, but did not dare to express his 
feelings. If I was the head of this company, I 
hope I ’d be kinder to some people than the colonel 
is,” he thought, as he bent over his smoking fire. 
‘^Why, I ’m treated almost like a slave.” He re- 
membered how delighted he was when he first left 
home, at the thought that he was his own master. 

Well, things won’t be this way always. I must be 
on the lookout for something better.” 

One night, after a very hard day’s work, John had 
just got himself comfortably fixed for sleep, when he 
was roused by shouts of dismay from his fellow- 
campers, every one of whom scrambled hastily to 
his feet. 

What is it?” cried John, springing up. 


270 CHILTIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS, 


“ Indians ! horse-thieves ! Every one must look 
after his own nag/’ said one man. 

^‘Yes, and we ’d better be quiet about it, too,” 
said another. 

John seized his saddle, and ran to untie Slater’s 
stake-rope. It was a moment of terror as he stooped 
over his task, and wondered how many Indians were 
hidden behind the trees, taking aim at him. 

I could hide if it was n’t for this old horse,” 
thought he. “ Slater is n’t worth risking my life 
for, but I could n’t do without him.” 

John sat on his horse, watching, listening. Every- 
thing had become quiet after the first alarm, but the 
sounds he had heard made him sure Indians were 
near. He had his gun ready. The men were all on 
the alert. ‘^It would be a great mishap to Colonel 
Eletcher to lose his horses and surveying outfit,” 
thought he. But I reckon I ’ll not shoot unless 
it ’s to save some one’s life. There ’s the colonel 
acting as if he is n’t a bit afraid. That horse he 
rides is a splendid creature ; he ’d shoot a lot of 
Indians to save him. What ’s the guide riding off 
for ? Has the colonel sent him ? ” 

John had not heard the Indians come ; but now, 
as they galloped away, he both saw and heard. Not 
a shot had been fired, not an arrow let fly. 


COLONEL FLETCHERS S CAMP. 


271 


The men dismounted, and again gathered round 
the fire. We h-e lucky to be in Colonel Fletcher’s 
camp,” said they. 

It was a puzzle to John. The colonel just sent 
that guide to the Indians, and they were off like a 
flash. I wish I knew the secret of his power over 
them. He ’s a great tyrant, and I don’t like him ; 
but I ’m glad if he can keep us safe.” 

But before long John held different views regard- 
ing the colonel. He began to admire him, and to 
wish to be like him. Then I ’d know how to be a 
successful man,” thought John. The colonel has 
a big income, and has his own way in everything ; 
makes everybody mind him, white men and Indians. 
How he orders me around ! That ’s the part that 
does n’t suit me. But he ’s certainly a very smart 
man, and I can learn a lot from him.” 

Everybody listened when Colonel Fletcher talked. 
One evening he was in a story-telling humor, and the 
cards were laid aside while he told some of his war 
experiences. 

John never tired of hearing war stories. But 
when the colonel began to tell of his adventures 
among the Indians, he was even more interested. He 
leaned on his elbow, and looked intently at the speaker, 
whose face was lighted up by the blazing camp-fire. 


272 CIIILIIOWEE BOYS IN HABNESS. 


‘‘ I Ve had a great many dealings with Indians/’ 
said the colonel ; and it ’s a wonder, too, for my 
first venture into the land of the red men came 
near being my last. 

“I was a young man then, and did not know what 
fear was. I had joined a hunting-party, and we 
were having rare sport, but I lost the trail. That 
did n’t trouble me, for I liked adventure ; but soon 
after missing my companions I found myself sur- 
rounded by a band of savage Indians, who made me 
prisoner, and carried me far into the interior. 

That was a dreadful journey ; but worse came at 
the end, when I met all the warriors of their tribe, 
every one hating the very sight of a white man. I 
could n’t speak their language. I have learned 
many Indian dialects since ; but that was the time I 
needed a ready tongue, and stood dumb before my 
enemies. Oh, I passed through a terrible ordeal ! ” 

John noticed the shudder which accompanied the 
words. 

The colonel continued, ‘^They condemned me to 
death without a dissenting voice. I was bound fast 
to a tree, a fire was lighted ; there seemed no escape 
from the most dreadful of deaths, and oh, how I 
wished to live ! The warriors sat in a half-circle, 
all looking at me, gloating 6ver me. But even in 


COLONEL FLETCHER'S CAMP. 


273 


that desperate moment I could not give up hope. 
I scanned every face to see if there was any help. 
The youngest of the braves fixed his eyes on me; 
I thought I saw a pitying glance, and looking full 
at him I made a Masonic sign ; young as I was, I 
was already a Mason. 

^‘Instantly the young chief sprang to his feet, 
demanding my freedom as a brother Mason. He 
cut the thongs that bound me. Ho one could gain- 
say him. I was free, and safe under his protection. 
It was from death to life to me ! ’’ 

That Avas a Avonderful escape ! There was one 
time Avhen it did you good to keep your Avits about 
you,’’ commented one of his listeners. 

^^Was the chief always your friend after that?” 
asked John. 

Yes, faithful to me till he died ; he fell in bat- 
tle in the AVar of 1812. I shall never forget his 
kindness after he claimed me as a brother. He 
treated me as such truly, took me to his own wig- 
wam, fed me Avith the choicest venison, reclaimed 
my horse for me, and travelled Avith me till we 
found my lost companions. I still have a souvenir 
Avhich he gave me; see,” handing his tomahawk to 
John. 

Oh, your peace-pipe ! I ’ve often Avondered how 


274 CHILTIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

you got it. It is like Chief Owassa’s, which my 
father and brother have seen.’’ John looked at it 
attentively^ It was a hatchet, the blade of the fin- 
est steel; the hard-wood handle, hollow and inlaid 
with silver, formed a pipe-stem which was connected 
with a bowl in the hammer-end of the hatchet or 
tomahawk. 

“1 value it very highly,” said the colonel, pleased 
at John’s interest. ‘^I ’ve never seen one like it, 
though some old chiefs may have them. They are, 
of course, not the genuine Indian peace-pipes, but 
were made by French gunsmiths.” 

Yes,” said John, ‘‘ in the French and Indian war.” 

“You paid dear for your hatchet. Colonel,” said 
one of the men. 

“ How ? by that one day’s fright ? You might n’t 
think so if you knew how many wigwams it has 
given me entrance to. I ’m welcomed when the 
chiefs see it. I tell its story as they smoke it, and 
they are proud of the young warrior who saved my 
life. Oh! I have many friends among the Indians.” 

“Yes, and among white men too, I reckon,” said 
another man. “It ’s a fine thing to have power.” 

The colonel smiled. It pleased him to rule, even 
if his kingdom was only a little surveyors’ camp 
in the woods. 


COLONEL FLETCHEIVS CAMP. 


275 


John remained with the camp till all Colonel 
Eletcher’s work in that part of the country was 
finished. Now he was going east in search of new 
engagements, and had no more need of John. He 
offered to sell him the horse he had been riding; 
but J ohn did not like Slater. He seemed a very 
poor horse after Nick, certainly not worth paying 
for with a good part of his hard-earned money. 

The colonel, of his own accord, wrote him a letter 
of recommendation. John was pleased to find that 
he was well satisfied with the work he had done. 

“We ’re a long way from where we first met,” 
said Colonel Fletcher; “but now would be a good 
time for you to be in New Orleans, if you care to 
go down the Mississippi again. You might reach 
the river in a week or so, even if you walk.” 

“ I ’d sooner walk than be bothered with a horse 
on the boat,” said John. “I had enough troubfe 
and expense with poor Nick, and lost him after 
all.” 

“Well, I hope you ’ll have no bad mishaps this 
time. Be sure to choose a good boat. This letter 
will help you to a first-rate berth with some cap- 
tain. And when you ’re in the Indian country, just 
tell the chiefs Colonel Fletcher ’s your friend ; they 
all know my name.” 


276 CIIILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS, 


It was early in the afternoon when John parted 
from his companions. The colonel and several of 
his assistants rode east, the Indian with them. He, 
too, was seeking another engagement as guide. The 
two men who were left behind talked as if uncer- 
tain of their plans. ^^We ’re not going your way,” 
said one of them to John. 

The man who spoke was the one of the company 
John had liked least. I shall be glad to miss 
Austin,” was his thought, as he began his solitary 
journey, going straight west. ‘‘He ’s a gambler, 
I ’m sure. The others only played to while away 
the time, I reckon. But Austin looked greedy when- 
ever he gained a point. Ah ! he was the one that 
wanted to teach me. He was sure he ’d get hold 
of my money that way.” 

John had never before been so completely alone, 
•fhe hours seemed long. He watched the sun, think- 
ing he would be glad when camping-time came ; 
but instead it was even more dreary. There was 
no horse to feed or talk to, no supper to prepare 
for any one, not even for himself, for he had shot 
no game. He could hardly persuade himself to 
light a fire when there was nothing to cook. “ But 
it ’ll be company, and help to keep me safe.” 

After the wood began to blaze he sat down to 


COLONEL FLETCHER'S CAMP. 


277 


eat some jerked venison and corn bread which he 
had in his bag. He did not like the thought of 
the journey before him, every day and night as 
lonely as this. 

^^If I hi only made enough money, I ’d go home 
now. Mother ’s wondering what ’s become of me, 
and it does n’t seem as if I ’d ever get another 
letter from anybody. Oh ! I wish I was as rich as 
I ought to be after all the hard work I ’ve done.” 

The colonel had settled with him that day. He 
took out his purse, and spread the precious coins on 
a flat stone to count them. It was all he had earned 
in the months he had been with the surveyors, ex- 
cept what went to buy his gun. 

John shook his head as he counted. ’d be 
ashamed to go back without more money than this ; 
I ’ll have to make it some way.” He had failed to 
receive his father’s last letter, or possibly he might 
have come to a different conclusion. 

He began to put his money into his purse again, one 
piece at a time. He liked to look at it and to feel 
it. Oh, if he only had a great pile of such stuff ! 

His Are was of hickory logs, which sparkled and 
crackled so that John did not know some one was 
creeping up behind him with steps as stealthy as 
an Indian’s. Suddenly a hideous face looked over 


278 CHILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


his shoulder, a face smeared with great patches of 
red clay, looking like a bloody mask ; a hand simi- 
larly bedaubed snatched his purse. 

John sprang to his feet, and looked for his gun, 
which he had placed on the ground close beside 
him ; but the wary thief already had possession of 
it. It was a terrible moment to John. He felt 
that everything was lost. But no, it should not be ! 
He grappled with the thief, who had turned to run 
with his spoils. John tried to wrench the gun from 
him, but his enemy was a powerful man ; the boy 
fought at great odds. In the struggle the weapon 
struck the ground and discharged itself, burying 
the bullet in the thief’s wrist. 

Oh, you young rascal ! my right hand, too.” 
These were the first words the disguised man had 
spoken ; they betrayed him. 

Austin, is it you ? Give me back my money ! ” 
But the man freed himself from the boy’s grasp, 
and ran, still clutching the purse. 

John pursued, hallooing and entreating. Austin 
paid no heed, but struck immediately into the woods, 
where there was no path. He dodged about among 
the trees as if he knew the way. John was a good 
runner, but here he was at a great disadvantage; 
he could not overtake Austin. 



A HAND SNATCHED HIS PURSE 





3 


COLONEL FLETCHERS S CAMP. 


279 


He had not gone far when he heard horses paw- 
ing the ground, and the next moment he saw a 
mounted man holding a second horse by the bridle. 
Then Austin, running at full speed, reached them, 
and springing into his saddle, rode away with his 
companion. 

That ’s Blake ! Oh, I did nT think he was such 
a bad man ! They must have made this plan to rob 
me just as I walked away from them this afternoon. 
Austin told me they were n’t coming my way to 
put me off my guard.” 

John was almost dazed by his great and sudden 
disaster. He stood stock-still, listening to the rapid 
trotting of the horses. Oh, my money ! ” groaned 
he. I shall never see it again ! ” 

He found his way back to his camp by the smoke 
from his fire. ^^That ’s how Austin knew exactly 
where I was. And I lighted it, thinking it would 
keep me safe ! ” 

He found his gun lying where it had fallen. The 
few coins which he had not put into his purse 
were still on the flat stone. “ It ’s well I have my 
gun. There ’s not near enough money left to buy 
another. That bullet in Austin’s wrist was what 
saved it for me. I ’m glad it did n’t strike me. 
Oh, he wanted to strip me of everything! I hope 


280 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN IIAENESS. 


I ’m done with gamblers. How dreadful Austin 
looked with that red stuff on his face and hands, 
trying to keep me from knowing him.’’ 

John lay awake till long into the night, too un- 
happy and disappointed to sleep. was just be- 
ginning to think how pleasant it would be to go 
home and see them all, but now I ’m too poor. 
I ’ll have to keep on with this dreadful journey. 
Where ’s the use of earning money, to be cheated 
out of it the way I was at Natchez ; and now this 
is worse.” 

The morning did not bring any brighter prospects. 
^‘1 hope nobody else is in as much trouble as I am 
to-day,” thought John, as he started on his march. 
‘^But I ’d sooner be myself than Austin, with a 
bullet in his wrist, and a stolen purse in his pocket. 
Yes, he ’s worse off, and so ’s Blake. I reckon 
they ’re gambling with my money now.” 

He was on a road which he had never travelled 
before, passing through the Indian country among 
a tribe whose language he did not know. ‘‘I wish 
I could meet some Cherokees, I don’t like Indians 
I can’t talk to,” he thought, as he passed their wig- 
wams. 

He had not walked far when it began to rain ; but 
he trudged on, resolved not to let anything hinder 


COLONEL FLETCHEE'S CAMP. 


281 


him in this long tramp which was to take him 
to where he could earn money. The rain increased, 
it pelted down on him pitilessly; and the wind blew 
till he could scarcely keep his feet. An Indian 
wigwam was a comfortless place in a storm, he 
knew that from experience ; but he must have 
shelter. 

What was that light shining before him out of 
an open door ? Could it possibly be a blacksmith’s 
forge here in the heart of the Indian country ? Oh, 
if it was only Jacob Webster’s ! John’s heart leaped 
up at the thought. But it could not be, for Mr. 
Webster was far away in the Cherokee Nation. 

But John ran with the wind till he reached the 
door; and there at the forge, by the bright light, 
stood Mr. Webster, showing an Indian boy how to 
make a horseshoe. 

It was like a glimpse of Chilhowee to John. 
How happy he felt, how light-hearted ! With one 
bound he was at the blacksmith’s side, holding out 
his hand, and exclaiming, 0 Mr. Webster ! don’t 
you know John Craig ? ” 


282 CHILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS, 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THE BLACKSMITH TO THE INDIANS. 

It would be hard to say which was most delighted 
at meeting, John or the blacksmith. What news 
the young traveller had to tell and hear as he sat, 
snug and comfortable, beside the blazing forge, his 
old friend listening, pleased as any boy. 

It ’s a feast to the eyes to see you, my lad,’’ he 
said, in one of the pauses of John’s story. ^‘What 
you have gone through! Well, it ’s made a man 
of you. You ’ve grown and improved wonderfully 
since I last saw you.” 

Do you think so ? I ’m glad ; Bess said I ’d 
be a giant when I got home.” 

You ’re beginning to want to see the home folks 
right bad, I reckon.” 

‘‘Yes. But since you ’ve seen Hugh, and heard 
they ’re all well, I think I can content myself away 
a while longer till I get back some of that money I 
started out for. How would I feel walking back 
to Chilhowee without a cent ? ” 


THE BLACKSMITH TO THE INDIANS, 283 

Oil ! I would n’t let tliat stop me. Why, they ’d 
be glad to see you, no matter how you came. Hugh 
says your father and mother are hankering after 
you day and night ; they don’t know how to live 
without you.” 

I ’d like to go home, truly i would.” John had 
thought more of his parents’ love, and understood it 
better, in those lonely days in the wilderness, than 
when he was with them in happy Chilhowee Par- 
sonage. 

I was hoping you had started that way. It ’s 
been three months since I saw Hugh. He said your 
mother was always watching for letters.” 

I ’m afraid she has n’t had any all this time. I 
wrote, but Colonel Fletcher said letters had a poor 
chance to go straight from where we were. Most 
likely they ’d stay forever in somebody’s pocket. I 
have n’t had any, not for ever so long.” 

^^Then maybe you did n’t get the one your grand- 
father wrote.” 

Ho ! did grandpa write to me ? Oh, I wish I ’d 
got it ! ” , 

<^Yes. It ’s a pity you missed it. Hugh says 
Squire Craig wants you to come to see him. That ’s 
what he wrote- about.” 

It sounded like joyful news to John. He sprang 


284 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HABNESS, 

to his feet. Grandpa wants me! 0 Mr. Webster, 
I ’ll go ! That ’s the best thing I can do. Tell me 
all Hugh said about it, please.” 

He had just come from there when I saw him. 
He rode over to my place to say good-by, because he 
heard that I was leaving it for this new post. He 
said your grandpa and grandma would n’t rest easy 
till all you boys had been to see them. The older 
ones had made their visits, and now it was your 
turn. And he ’d written to beg you to come soon, 
and stay as long as ever you could ; for when the 
boys went away it made the house so lonesome that 
it almost broke their hearts.” 

“ Yes ! Hugh and Don have their preaching, you 
know; and Ken ’s a doctor, so you know he has n’t 
much time to spare. And that ’s what grandpa 
wrote ? Why, it ’s splendid ! I can make just as 
long a visit as they want, and after that go straight 
home to Chilhowee.” 

You might take Chilhowee on your way, and get 
a peep at everybody, and then go on to your grand- 
father’s ; how would that do ? ” 

Oh ! it would take so much longer ; would n’t I 
have to walk a great deal out of my way ? And a 
peep would n’t be enough if I once got home. I 
think I ought to hurry to grandpa’s, since he ’s been 


THE BLACKSMITH TO THE INDIANS. 285 

waiting so long, and never got any answer to his 
letter/^ 

Yes, that ’s a very good plan ; the best, I think. 
I ^d hate to have you go down the Mississippi again, 
and come back poorer than ever. You know I tried 
it twice, and that ’s the way it turned out.’’ 

Oh ! I did n’t want to go this time. But I could 
n’t bear to go home without anything when I ’d told 
everybody that I was n’t coming back till I ’d found 
my fortune. But going to grandpa’s is different. 
Bather ’ll understand. I ’ll write to him.” 

“ Yes, do. I ’ll try my best to get the letter 
sent.” 

Now that John’s mind was at ease, he began to 
take an interest in the blacksmith’s affairs. 

“ You did n’t tell me how you happened to come 
away from the place father found for you, Mr. 
Webster. He thought you ’d like it there very 
well.” 

“ So I did. Working in the mission pleased me 
mightily. But the Indian boys were quick to learn 
the blacksmith trade, and of course I was glad to 
teach them. Some of them now can do all the smith 
work the mission needs. Three months ago I gave 
up my forge to them altogether.” 

“ What a pity, when you liked it there so much.” 


286 CHILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


Oh ! but this is just as good a place ; we are all 
very happy here. You see, the Indians for some time 
past have been holding out considerable encourage- 
ment to mechanics to settle all through their coun- 
try. After looking about a good deal, I made up my 
mind to come here, where there are no other white 
people living. They gave me and my family a 
hearty welcome. They built this shop for me, with 
what help Harvey and I could give. And it ’s as 
good a shop as I ever had.’’ 

It ’s better than the old Chilhowee one,” said 
John, who had been looking at .it. 

Yes, for everything ’s new. Oh ! I ’m well fixed. 
I have a good house, too. It was raining so hard 
when you got here that I reckon you did n’t see it.” 

All I saw was the light from the forge, and you 
standing in it. That seemed so wonderful that I 
did n’t have eyes for anything else.” 

“1 can believe it. I can’t tell you how glad I am 
that you found me ; for you ’ve been in my thoughts 
very often, and I was afraid you were in trouble. 
Now you ’ll see my house; for there ’s the dinner- 
horn, and my folks are wanting to see you. Har- 
vey ’s told them you ’re here.” 

The blacksmith’s wife and sister gate John a most 
cordial and delighted welcome. They had known 


TEE BLACKSMITH TO THE INDIANS, 287 

him nearly all his life, and were fond of him, as 
they w^ere of all Parson Craig’s sons. 

You are the first white visitor we ’ve had,” they 
said ; and we don’t know anybody we ’d be gladder 
to see.” 

You can’t be gladder than I am,” said John. 

You ’re the first friends I ’ve met since I left Chil- 
howee, and you don’t know how pleased it makes me.” 

wish your mother was here to-day, John,” said 
Mrs. Webster, as they sat at dinner, to see how 
safe and well you are after all your travels and 
adventures. We want to hear about them. Harvey 
says they ’re wonderful.” 

Yes,” agreed Harvey ; “ I could n’t half listen, 
though, for having to finish that horseshoe father 
dropped in such a hurry the minute he saw John.” 

I forgot all about the shoe, that ’s a fact. Gen- 
erally I can work while I talk, but this time it was 
different.” 

^^John could n’t well find any one who could 
understand his stories better than you can, Jacob,” 
said his sister ; for you ’ve been over the same 
ground twice.” 

^^Yes, Martha, and with just as poor success. 
Don’t you remember, John, I told you all about 
it before you started.” 


288 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


Yes ; but I not sorry I went, except that I 
lost poor Nick,’’ 

dare say that was worse than losing your 
money,” said Martha. 

‘^Yes, I was fond of Nick. He was such good 
company.” 

‘‘He was a very fine animal,” said Mr. Webster. 
“ I ’ve often shod him. I considered him the parson’s 
best horse ; Luby ’s pretty old, you know.” 

“ Father was very generous to give me Nick.” 

“I wish you had as good a horse for the long 
journey that ’s before you.” 

“I don’t believe I want one, for, if he was good, 
like Nick, I don’t know how I could keep him safe, 
he ’d be almost sure to be stolen ; and if he was a 
poor horse, that nobody coveted, I would n’t care for 
him either, he ’d just be a bother. I ’ve made up 
my mind to walk to grandfather’s.” 

“ It ’s a tremendous long journey from here, John. 
The miles count up into the hundreds.” 

“ I ’ve run miles and miles, day after day, working 
for those surveyors.” 

“ You did n’t know what you were training for. 
Oh! I think you can make that journey, for I ’ve 
done just such travelling myself.” 

“ If you don’t have a horse you ’ll not have near 


THE BLACKSMITH TO THE INDIANS. 289 

as much trouble at the fords/’ said Harvey, ‘‘ for 
you he a first-rate swimmer; all Chilhowee knows 
that.” 

John smiled, glad to be once more among appre- 
ciative friends. 

^^Yes,” said the blacksmith; ^^and you ’ll have 
very little expense on your journey if you don’t 
have to buy horse-feed.” 

little corn meal for hoe-cake, that ’s all I 
expect to buy,” said John, remembering the slimness 
of his purse. 

Unless your powder and shot give out,” said 
Harvey, for you ’ll depend mostly on game.” 

‘‘I can fish. I can make a bow and arrows. I 
thought of that yesterday when Austin had my gun. 
Oh ! I ’ll not starve, even if I get out of bullets. And 
if it was only a river journey to grandfather’s, I 
could make a canoe that would carry me there ; I 
made one before I left home.” 

“ It ’s well to be plucky,” said Martha, and to 
know how to make the best of things.” 

John ’s like his brothers there,” said Mr. Web- 
ster. How I miss those boys ! I reckon I feel 
like your grandfather, John ; now I ’ve seen you I 
want to see all the rest of the Craigs. It used to 
do me good just to hear Don laugh.” 


290 CHILHOWEE BOYS IE HARNESS. 

Don got a cliurcli now. He ’s so far away that 
he never gets home. That was the news in the last 
letter I got. Everybody misses him.’’ 

“Of course they do; Hugh told me. Well, we 
miss the Chilhowee folks, your father most of all. 
How I liked to sit under his preaching ! ” 

“ But we ’ve got a good home here, John,” said 
Martha ; “ don’t you like the looks of it ? ” 

“ Yes ; I did n’t know Indians could build such a 
good house unless they were smart, like Ahila or 
Pukpuggee.” 

“ Oh ! now you ’ve picked out the best Indians that 
ever breathed,” said Harvey ; “ but these are very 
good ; they can’t talk English, though, and some- 
times make queer mistakes.” 

“ Yes, John,” said Mr. Webster ; “ when we first 
came here we lived in a tent. The Indians wanted 
to help us build the house, so we invited them to 
come on a certain day. They mistook the day, and 
came on Sunday instead.” 

“ What did you do then ? ” 

“ I explained to them the best I could. I did not 
know their language very well. I told them it was 
a holy day. They should do no work on it, but 
must talk about the Great Spirit, and sing praises to 
Him, and try to keep it holy to please Him. I said 


THE BLACKSMITH TO THE INDIANS. 291 

they could not build my house then, but they might 
come the next day to help me. They had brought 
their axes with them ; but they all went quietly home, 
and came again on Monday. They helped me faith- 
fully all through the week on this house.’’ 

I reckon they were glad to do it,” said John. 

Indians have idle times except in the hunting 
season.” 

“ Oh ! they seemed very glad to be here. But the 
next Sunday a curious thing happened. They all 
came back again, and told me I must preach to 
them. I was not expecting such a thing. But they 
were not willing to go away without being preached 
to.” 

“ What did you do, Mr. Webster ? Did you 
really preach a sermon ? ” 

I did what I could. I was willing to instruct 
them as well as I knew how.” 

They were so earnest,” said Mrs. Webster, 

sheep without a shepherd ; we pitied them.” 

I read the Bible to them awhile, and then 
talked to them and prayed with them. Then I 
told them they might go home, and if they would 
come back the next Sunday I would read more to 
them.” 

“And they come,” sad Martha, “every Sunday 


292 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


without fail. It is the most blessed hour in the 
week.’’ 

‘‘ They think father’s preaching is very good,” 
said Harvey. 

I reckon it is, too.” John had a very high ap- 
N predation of Mr. Webster. Why, father ’ll be 
glad to hear about this. It ’s a real mission, is n’t 
it?” 

‘‘Ho, we ’re just trying to help them all we can. 
If I am able to do them any good, it ’s greatly 
because of what I have learned from your father.” 

“ It ’s a good thing you can do it. When Indians 
want preaching they will have it, they won’t let you 
off.” John remembered his experience the first Sun- 
day he spent among the Chickasaws long before. 

“I wish you could stay over Sunday, John,” said 
his host ; “ I would like you to hear them sing. 
Martha is teaching them.” 

“ I ’d like to stay ; but I ’m in such a hurry to get 
to grandpa’s that I must start just after breakfast 
to-morrow.” 

That night, as John lay in his comfortable bed, he 
wondered that he felt so happy, when he remem- 
bered the misery of the previous night beside his 
lonely camp-fire. 

“ I ’m just as poor as I was then, and I ’ve got a 


THE BLACKSMITH TO THE INDIANS. 293 

longer journey to take than if I went to the Missis- 
sippi. But grandfather wants me ! he ’s sent for 
me, that ’s the grand thing ! 

To be assured of the affection, and to be wanted 
by one whom he had been taught to esteem and re- 
vere as he had his grandfather was great joy to 
John. He was beginning to find out that it is love 
which smooths life’s pathway. It was that which 
made the blacksmith’s home such a happy spot that 
he could forget his woes that day. Like the pil- 
grim, his burden had rolled off as he entered its 
door. 

The next morning he started on his journey east- 
ward to his grandfather’s. 

I know you have taken the right road, John,” 
said Mr. Webster, looking at his bright face. God 
bless you, my boy ! ” 

No one had spoken such words to John since the 
day he rode away from his father’s house. 

No one knew in those early days what the simple 
mission-work of the pious blacksmith and his family 
would grow into; but it was blessed and prospered 
until it became a regular missionary station, and an 
ordained minister was sent to those poor Indians, 
who were hungry to hear the gospel preached. 

Jacob Webster, in his humble, faithful way, con- 


294 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

tinned to devote his life to the work ; and his sister 
Martha became a missionary to the Indians, and 
did good and loving service for more than half a 
century. 

Such great results can an all-powerful Master 
bring out of small beginnings when they are done 
in His name. 


HOME FMOM VIBGINIA. 


295 


CHAPTER XXII. 

HOME FROM VIRGINIA. 

<^Why, Pkoebe, it seems as if our happiest days 
had come ! ” Mrs. Baird was sitting in Alan’s new 
house, holding his beautiful baby in her arms. Her 
eyes overflowed with tears of joy. 

Yes, ma, I did n’t know I could be so glad to get 
home. O Alan, the baby ’s too sweet for anything ! ” 

I knew you ’d say so ; but you did n’t seem to 
be in any hurry to see him. Think of your keep- 
ing ma away off in Virginia till little Alan ’s nearly 
three months old. Nettie and I thought it was 
dreadful, and so did pa.” 

No, Alan,” protested Mr. Baird. I knew your 
ma would come home as soon as she got courage 
for the journey.” 

Yes ; it was that dreadful stage. Oh ! I don’t 
want to do any more travelling.” 

‘^That ’s good news for pa and me,” said Alan. 

<<And for me, too,” said Nettie. I ’ve been very 
lonesome, ma, without you and Phoebe.” 


296 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS, 


I was afraid you were, my dear. I never thought 
of being gone a whole year and more.” 

^^Well, ma, it ’s done you a lot of good,” said 
Mr. Baird; ^^so we can’t be sorry. I don’t know 
when I ’ve seen you looking so well. And Phoebe 
’s come back prettier than ever ! I wonder some- 
body in Virginia did n’t steal her.” 

“As if I could leave ma! I don’t ever intend 
to!” 

“ Oh ! if I could have spared Phoebe, nothing 
would have pleased her Aunt Rachel better than 
to keep her another year. I know I was selfish 
not to be willing to leave her.” 

“No, you were n’t, ma. I could n’t have been 
happy without you. But, oh, we did have a delight- 
ful time, pa ! ” 

“ Well, I hope you ’ve come home to have a good 
time, child ; you deserve it, I ’m sure.” 

The travellers had just arrived, and had stopped 
at Alan’s house at the end of the lane, before going 
home. Thad stood beside the porch in charge of 
the horses. 

“There ’s Thad still waiting, when I told him to 
go on, and we ’d follow,” said Mr. Baird. 

“He does n’t want to go, pa, till he ’s seen the 
baby,” said Phoebe. 


HOME FROM VIRGINIA. 


297 


*‘0i course not!’’ cried Alan. ^^Thad ’ll be just 
as pleased as anybody. Here, ma, do give me little 
Alan. It looks as if you were n’t ever going to 
let anybody else touch him again.” 

Of course they all followed the baby to the porch. 

Thad, I ’m the proudest man in Chilhowee,” 
Alan said, as he put his child into the old slave’s 
arms. 

“ Heah am little massa 1 You hab sutenly got 
sumpin’ to boast of now, Marse Alan. Hi ! hi ! lit- 
tle massa ! See him cockin’ his eye at me a’ready ! 
My 1 but he am a peart chile, an’ jes’ de picter o’ 
little missy ! ” 

So he is, Thad,” said his mistress, evidently 
pleased with the likeness. 

I think he looks like Nettie,” said Alan. But 
he ’s bound to grow up like me.” 

Oh, then I pity him ! ” said Mr. Baird, but he 
laughed; he was proud of Alan. 

Mrs. Baird was so engrossed with the baby that 
she could scarcely look at the house, but Alan boasted 
of it. You see the good of being slow about such 
things, ma. We ’ve got everything here we wanted. 
Nettie and I made sure of having it built just to 
suit.” 

<‘Yes; but if we ’d waited a little longer,” said 


298 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

Nettie, we might have had a prettier pattern yet. 
There ’s a lovely house going up at White Apple 
now. It ’ll be the show place of the neighbor- 
hood.” 

Oh, Ned Pratt’s ! ” said Phoebe. You wrote 
to us about it, pa.” 

Yes ; it ’s about the strangest thing that ’s hap- 
pened, that Ned should marry Leigh Gordon’s sis- 
ter, when everybody thought Don Craig was booked 
for her.” 

^^Ned ’ll be reckoned the rich man of Chilhowee 
Valley when he brings his bride home,” said Alan. 

wonder at Don for letting such a chance slip.” 

Yes ; for he can get ahead of every one when 
he wants to,” said Mrs. Baird. saw that when 
he was a boy.” 

“He ’s different from Ken. I tell you, I feel 
set up, ma, by the way I ’ve got ahead of Dr. 
Ken.” 

“ How ’s that, Alan ? I thought his practice 
was a great deal better than yours.” 

“ His practice ! that ’s not what I meant. I 
don’t want his work. It would half kill me to do 
the riding he does. But here ’s little Alan, *my 
boy ! and Ken ’s got only a girl ! ” 

“Oh! but that ’s what pleases them best,” said 


HOME FROM VIRGimA, 


299 


his mother. Mrs. Craig wrote to me that Kenneth 
had so many brothers and only one sister, so the 
baby girl delighted him and all of them a great 
deal more than if it had been a boy.’’ 

‘‘ Oh, well ! that ’s the way to talk, of course, but 
everybody ’s prouder of a boy than a girl; I am, 
I know.” 

^^We must go to see Mrs. Craig the very first 
chance, Phoebe,” said Mrs. Baird. ^‘How I have 
missed her and everybody at the parsonage, and 
I ’ve felt so sorry for them because of the anxious 
times they ’ve had about John.” 

They ’re not over yet,” said Mr. Baird. They 
got a letter some time back saying he was just 
starting to his grandfather’s. It ’s a tremendous 
journey ; there ’s no telling whether he ’ll ever get 
there.” 

I don’t think I could bear up if I had a son 
bent on travelling as John Craig is,” said Mrs. 
Baird. There, Kettie, take your pretty baby. I 
don’t know how to leave him, but I must go and 
see how my house looks.” 

You ’ll hardly know it after being away so long,” 
said Alan. He walked up the lane with his mother. 
Phoebe and her father hurried ahead, and Avere wait- 
ing on the porch when they reached the gate. 


300 CBILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS, 

It does look different, Alan. Wkat ’s hap- 
pened ? ’’ 

“ I thought you had forgotten it, ma,’^ laughed 
Alan. 

Phoebe’s face beamed with delight, and her father 
looked unusually alert and pleased. 

“ 0 ma, do come and see ! ” cried Phoebe. Pa 
has given me my parlor ! ” 

“ 0 child ! Why, husband ! ” Mrs. Baird could 
scarcely have been more surprised, and her delight 
equalled Phoebe’s, when she saw, not only the parlor, 
but a new guest-room. ^WVe could n’t have a better 
welcome home than this ! ” 

Were n’t we good at keeping a secret, ma ? ” 
said Alan. You never dreamed of it, did 
you ? ” 

“ When we pulled down Alan’s office,” said Mr. 
Baird, ^^it just struck me that the lumber would 
help build the parlor; and then, when Alan’s work- 
men got hold, it was n’t much harder to put up 
two rooms than one.” 

They ’re such nice rooms,” said Phoebe. ^ I ’m 
so glad to have them ; for, oh ! I ’ve wanted them 
ever so long.” 

But now ’s the time we need them most of all,” 
said her mother ; for, after living so handsomely 


nOME FROM VIRGINIA. 


301 


at Sister EachePs, I was sorry to think how much 
you kl miss.’’ 

^‘But now I can have as pretty a parlor as Alice 
Murray’s was.” 

^^And I ’ll take pleasure in having visitors, with 
such a fine spare room. Why, husband, you ’ve 
made the house just what it ought to be ! ” 

‘‘I reckon we could n’t palm Aunt Hadassah off 
on ma, the next time she comes; but I ’d like to,” 
Alan thought. 

I wish we could have got the improvements 
sooner,” said Mr. Baird ; but something alw'-ays 
seemed in the way. Phoebe was a good little girl 
to want to come home even without the new rooms.” 

‘‘O pa! I ’d stay with ma and you, no matter 
what kind of a house we had.” 

Mrs. Baird was right about the anxious days at 
the parsonage. But at last came a letter to the 
parson from Grandfather Craig. 

Our dear wanderer has come, weary, footsore ; 
he walked all the way. But he is well, and glad 
to be here. You know well with what a joyful 
welcome his grandma and I received him. I write 
hastily to catch the post. John sends love. Thank 
God he is safe ! ” 

This letter was read by John’s father and mother 


B02 CUILHOWEE BOYS IN UABNESS, 

with tears of thankfulness. What joyful tidings ! ” 
said Mrs. Craig. 

What a blessed providence ! ’’ said the parson. 
Our boy is with the best guide ; I count that 
father will be wiser than I in dealing with him. 
His visit there will fit him better for home.’’ 

The parson wrote letters to Hugh and Don. and 
Mr. Webster, although it was hard to know how 
the blacksmith’s would reach him. “I will give it 
a chance, for I ’m sure Jacob will be glad to hear 
of John’s safety.” 

Alec and Bessie, though they had not known the 
depths of their parents’ anxiety, now shared in their 

joy. 

Oh, John ’ll have a splendid time now ! ” said 
Bess. 

“Well,” said Alec, “I did n’t want to do a single 
thing that he ’s done since he went away, till now. 
But oh ! I do want to go to grandpa’s.” 

“Maybe you will some day, my son,” said his 
father ; “ but now you may ride to the post with 
these letters, and then take grandpa’s letter to Ken ; 
he ’ll be very glad to know John ’s safe.” 

Mrs. Craig and Bessie drove in the gig to Murray 
Hill with the good news. 

“ How thankful I am that you are relieved,” said 


HOME FROM VIRGINIA, 


303 ^ 


Uncle Will. really don’t see how you could 

have borne the anxiety much longer.” 

No ; but now the load ’s gone. And yet through 
all these months I have never been able to say 
that we should not have allowed John to go.” 

No,” said Janet ; it was like Will in the war. 
John went away to fight a battle. I have often 
thought of it.” 

The next week’s mail brought a letter from John 
to his father. 

I can’t begin to tell you what fine times I ’m 
having; but then you know grandpa and grandma, 
so you ’ll understand. I ’ve got your room, and I 
sit in the same place at the table where you al- 
ways sat, and grandma is knitting stockings for 
me ; she had a pair finished when I got here. And, 
oh, the very best thing is Chestnut, my new horse ! 
He ’s the finest I ever rode, better than Buncombe, 
I do believe. Grandpa ’s had him ready waiting 
for me for more than a year. He ’s so glad I ’m 
here to ride him. Tell Alec to look out for me ; 
for some day I ’ll come riding home on Chestnut, 
fine as can be. But grandpa would like me to make 
him a very long visit first; and I certainly shall, if 
you can spare me. 

He wants me to learn surveying while I have 


304 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


nothing else to do. He says it ’s a good thing to 
know, even when a man has only his own property 
to manage; and if I ever want to travel again it 
may help me to make money. I know that by 
being with Colonel Fletcher. But I have n’t told 
you much about him. I ’ll have a great deal to 
tell when I get home. I ’m telling everything to 
grandpa and grandma now. And I ’m really very 
busy, because I ride out with grandpa every day 
to see the farm ; he wants me to understand all 
about it. It ’s a beautiful place ; I don’t know 
but what I like it as well as Chilhowee.” 

This letter delighted the home circle, and Alec 
and Bess discussed it with great interest. Their 
father had to describe his old room, which was now 
John’s, and to remember where his seat had been 
at the table. 

^‘And you were just a boy then, like John?” 
said Alec. 

I like it best where John says he ’s coming 
home on a beautiful new horse,” said Bess. 

‘‘ Oh ! that won’t be for a long time,” said Alec. 
“He likes it too well at grandpa’s. But I ’m glad 
he ’s got Chestnut, because he walked such an awful 
long way from Jacob Webster’s, hundreds of miles, 
and he ought to get a ride after that.” 


HOME FROM VIRGINIA. 


305 


Yes,” said their mother. I guess grandpa 
thinks John really earned Chestnut.” 

^‘Walking for a horse!” said Alec. “Well, that 
would n’t be so bad.” 

Mrs. Baird came with congratulations instead of 
condolences when she visited the parsonage, which 
was not for some time after her return home, on 
account of her devotion to her little grandson. 

“I ’ve been so happy myself lately, Mrs. Craig,” 
she said, “ that I could n’t bear to think it was 
your turn to be anxious. I can’t tell you how glad 
I am that everything ’s come out right about John.” 

“Yes, wonderfully right. And now we can re- 
joice together, for I know your little baby Alan is 
as great a joy to you as Kenneth’s darling little 
Janet is to us.” 

“ Oh ! I ’m so delighted with the child that I can 
scarcely tear myself away from him. And to think 
of my being gone so long that you saw him before 
I did ! Well, I ’m certainly glad to be home.” 

Mrs. Baird did not stay very long, being anxious 
to return to little Alan. 

She talked ^ baby ’ all the time she was here,” 
said Bess. “ I wanted her to tell about that stage- 
ride just where Don left off. I ’m glad mother 
is n’t talking every minute about Ken’s baby.” 


306 CEILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

“But she ’s just as sweet as little Alan, and 
bigger,” said Alec. “Thad ’s got lots to tell about 
that journey, though. He says there was no end 
to the troubles they had; but when they once got 
safe home to Virginia, it seemed next thing to 
heaven, everything was so pleasant.” 


DON'S CALL TO BELLEVUE. 


307 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

don’s call to BELLEVUE. 

Don was deeply interested in his work in Powell’s 
Valley. His time was fully occupied. Besides the 
church in which he ministered, he had a distant 
mission where he spent much time. 

His poor people, his scattered sheep, won his 
love ; he worked for them with all his heart, and 
was rejoiced at their devotion to him. 

He sometimes thought of that wonderful Sunday 
in Bellevue ; indeed, the vision of Agnes Hamilton 
often came to him, as clear and entrancing as at the 
first; it was as if her voice sounded in his ears. 
But his feelings were too sacred to put into words, 
even to himself. He had no hope of seeing her 
again in this world. But Don firmly believed in a 
blessed future, in a holy, happy heaven, where heart 
answers to heart. In that day his highest aspira- 
tions would be satisfied, for so it was written. How 
Agnes was like a star brightening his path ; it was 
his joy to walk in the light. 


308 CHILUOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS, 

One day, during his second year in PowelPs 
Valley, lie received a letter written in a strange 
hand, having the Bellevue postmark. He glanced 
at the signature ; there were several names affixed, 
the first being Enoch Butler, M.D.’’ Don read 
the letter with deep interest. It was a call to the 
church in Bellevue, recently made vacant by the 
death of the Eev. Mr. Foster. 

Don was greatly surprised, and of course gratified. 
His first thought was that now he might again see 
Agnes Hamilton — wonderful ! for it had seemed 
an impossibility. Then he remembered his people. 
Could he leave them, this flock in the wilderness ? 
Who would love them as he did ? The church in 
Bellevue could easily secure some one else ; it was 
an attractive place, the people were rich, this letter 
in his hand told him as much ; but who would 
come to this little church in the valley, and to the 
mission where the work was hard and love the only 
reward? And, then, he was in the middle of the 
year ; could he in honor leave them ? 

Besides, all his tastes w.ere for the kind of life 
he now led. He meditated beside still waters, he 
studied his sermons as he walked in the fields or 
rode through the forest. He loved nature, and here 
he saw her in great beauty and grandeur. The 


DON^S CALL TO BELLEVUE. 309 

everlasting hills, the giant trees, were his friends; 
they inspired him. He remembered that Sunday in 
Bellevue, how he felt that he could not write his 
sermon in a room, but must go the brook. He had 
finished that sermon since he came to the valley, 
and preached it. ^^He leadeth me.” Now he 
wanted to feel his Shepherd’s guiding hand. He 
must think of his life-work, of his sacred vows, 
not of Agnes. 

After due consideration, he wrote, declining the 
call, because he felt it his duty to continue in his 
present work, thanking them for the honor they had 
done him, and offering, in appreciation of their 
courtesy, to preach for them some Sunday in the 
near future if they desired it. 

I ’ve heard father say that it was due to a 
church to be willing to give them a Sunday if it 
was possible, after they had done a minister the 
honor of giving him an unsolicited call. I ’m glad 
I can do it. I intended to take a little holiday soon, 
and that ’s how I can spend it.” 

An answer came from Bellevue, accepting Don’s 
offer for the Sunday, and strongly urging him to 
reconsider his declination ; they were very much in 
earnest in desiring him for their pastor. There was 
a personal note from Dr. Butler, inviting Don to be 


310 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS, 


his guest; lie was no longer at the inn, but was 
now married, and had a home of his own. 

Can it be possible that his wife is Agnes Ham- 
ilton ? ” What a pang the thought brought to Don. 
It revealed his heart to him. What would Bellevue 
be with all hope of Agnes lost ? But he tried to 
banish these thoughts. He reminded himself that 
he was going to spend this Sunday there for the 
sake of duty, not for Agnes. 

On his long ride to Bellevue he schooled himself 
to meet Dr. Butler’s wife as he would a stranger, 
even if she should prove to be Agnes. 

It was again Saturday afternoon when he rode 
through the streets of the beautiful town. How 
vividly he remembered his first view of it! Would 
his heart ever again be so light and untrammelled 
as it had been on that day ? 

Don received a most cordial welcome from Dr. 
Butler and his wife, who was a lady from Georgia, 
beautiful and charming, but as different from Agnes 
as Eleanor was. 

The next day the church was crowded at both 
services. Don’s hearers were doubly regretful that 
he still declined their call, after the Sunday of en- 
joyment which he gave them. 

He intended to remain in town over Monday, and 


DON'S CALL TO BELLEVUE. 


311 


several of the prominent church people invited him 
to call, Mrs. Hamilton among the number. He had 
seen Agnes in the congregation, both morning and 
evening. 

Don was aware that these invitations were given 
mainly in the hope that personal interviews might 
be of some avail towards inducing him to still agree 
to be their pastor. He knew such would not be the 
result, but he promised to call at Mrs. Hamilton’s. 

I cannot tell you, Mr. Craig,” said Mrs. Hamil- 
ton, in the next day’s interview, ‘^how sorry we all 
are that you do not see your way clear to come to 
us.” 

Don sat in her parlor, where she and her son and 
daughter entertained him. He thought the room 
more attractive than any he had ever before seen, 
even at Leighton. Many articles in it had a look of 
having come from far away. Don could imagine that 
they each had a story. 

But his eyes did not dwell much on his surround- 
ings, for here was Agnes ! the sight of whom en- 
tranced him as at the first. If he were pastor of 
Bellevue church, what an opportunity he might have 
to pursue this acquaintance ; but now he was giving 
himself no chance, and he said, — 

I am sorry, too, Mrs. Hamilton. That I should 


312 CHILEOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


be wanted here has been a very pleasant surprise to 
me. But I really cannot come.’’ 

Perhaps you don’t know,” said J asper, how very 
much we need just such a man as you, young and 
enthusiastic, to build up our church.” 

‘^Yes,” said Mrs. Hamilton. Poor Mr. Foster 
was in failing health all this past year, and of course 
the church has suffered.” 

<^So Dr. Butler and others have told me. But 
surely you can find some one who will fill his place 
as well as I, — better, — for I am only a beginner.” 

“We cannot call you that, Mr. Craig,” said Agnes, 
“ when we remember how you preached for us a year 
and a half ago, and know that you have been at work 
ever since.” 

What a siren’s voice was this ! And had Agnes 
kept count of the time as he had since that wonder- 
ful Sunday ? But he must not yield ; he must be 
true to his charge. 

“ I should like to tell you about my work,” he 
said. “ Then you will understand better why I can’t 
leave my people. But it is a long story, Mrs. Hamil- 
ton. You may not care to listen.” 

“We shall be glad to hear all you have to say, Mr. 
Craig.” Stately Mrs. Hamilton had been completely 
won by simple-hearted Don. 


DON'S CALL TO BELLEVUE. 


313 


‘‘The church in Powell’s Valley is in the midst of 
many good farms ; the soil is fertile. The people 
are able to live very comfortably. Here I preach 
the first and third Sundays in each month. The 
valley is narrow, and bounded on the northwest by 
the Cumberland Mountains. Lying southeast of our 
valley we see a vast extent of hills and ridges, cov- 
ered with various growths of timber, with here and 
there a spot where some poor man has settled, ex- 
pecting to make a support by farming and hunting. 
The earth is rocky and gravelly, so that it will not 
yield much, no matter how diligently it is tilled. 
But a mountain region, of course, affords many kinds 
of game, so the people need not starve. I have a 
mission among those hills, where I spend much of 
my time.” 

“ What a hard field you must have, Mr. Craig ! ” 
exclaimed Jasper. 

“ No. It is the poor mountaineers that have the 
dreary life, the hardships, not I.” 

“ You are the one to carry joyful news to them,” 
said Agnes. 

“ Yes ; and when I find them glad to listen, my 
work is easy.” 

“ ‘ How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet 
of him that bringeth good tidings,’ ” said Mrs. Ham- 


314 CHILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


ilton. Think of Mr. Craig’s privilege, Agnes!” 
She was beginning to see why the young pastor 
could not leave his people. 

There are more to preach to in the summer,” 
continued Don, “ for some of the ridges afford grass ; 
and the people from the valley take their surplus 
stock of cattle and young horses to them for summer 
pasturage, and go once a week to salt them ; young 
men or boys have that task. When they know I am 
near they come to listen. Sometimes I preach a 
little sermon on purpose for them. 

“Then in the hunting-season the hunters like a 
sermon in their camps. I ride thirty or forty miles 
from home to look after them; there is no one else 
to do it.” 

“You would n’t have to work near as hard in 
Bellevue as you do now,” urged Jasper. 

Don’s look showed that no offer of an easy berth 
could tempt him. “ I ’m glad to be busy. The only 
trouble is, there ’s not time enough for all there is 
to do.” 

“ I can imagine you have n’t much leisure to enjoy 
your home,” said Mrs. Hamilton. 

“I am really at home a great deal. And I ’ve 
grown very fond of the place. I look out on the 
Cumberland Mountains. I have a grand view. We 


DON'S CALL ro BELLEVUE. 


315 


see a great variety of foliage; but on the summit 
there is a vast ledge of limestone rock, presenting 
a perpendicular wall, several miles in extent, and 
mounting up one or two hundred feet.’’ 

^‘Inaccessible, is it not?” asked Jasper. 

“ Yes ; the immense rock prevents any crossing 
by men. The top of the mountain is the boundary 
line between Virginia and Kentucky. But this is 
geography which you all know.” 

“No, we are glad to hear it,” said Mrs. Hamilton. 
“ This part of the world is strange to us ; we are 
newcomers, comparatively.” 

“Eighteen miles below my home is Cumberland 
Gap, in the extreme west end of Virginia. There 
the State terminates in a narrow point between 
Kentucky and Tennessee. I know the region Avell. 
I am in the saddle a great deal.” 

“You must be,” said Jasper. “Your horse will 
wear out, if you don’t.” 

“I don’t know what I should do without Bun- 
combe. But he ’s not a hard-worked horse, like 
many I see; those that bring salt through our 
valley, for instance.” 

“ Where does your salt come from ? ” asked 
Agnes. 

“ From Goose Creek salt-works, in Kentucky. 


316 CHILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


There is an old salt-well about five miles from us, 
but it was abandoned because the per cent of salt in 
the water was so small that it was unprofitable to 
work it.” 

“What a pity!” said Jasper. “And now a long, 
troublesome journey must be taken for it.” 

“ Yes. They bring it over Cumberland Gap ; that, 
of course, is the place for crossing the mountain.” 

“It is n’t a complete gap,” said Jasper. 

“No; this gap is as if it were a notch in the 
mountain, cutting it about half way down. A com- 
plete gap, you know, is made by a stream of water 
passing through a mountain ridge.” 

“ Like the French Broad in the Alleghanies,” said 
Agnes. “We have seen that.” 

“Well, this is far different, of course. It makes 
a tedious journey. There is a pretty good turnpike 
road, and wagons can cross it; but the usual way of 
bringing salt is to pack it in bags on horses. It ’s 
a lonely ride. The men try to form a company. I 
have learned to know the seasons when the salt is 
coming; and if I ride to meet the caravan, some- 
times the men are glad to camp early, and have a 
sermon, even if it is n’t Sunday.” 

“ And you like that ! ” said Jasper. 

“ Indeed I do ! The men have had a long, dreary 


DON'S CALL TO BELLEVUE. 


317 


journey, dangerous often. Some have told me that 
the blessed Word was like light on their pathway; 
they had never known what it was to attend a 
religious service before.’’ 

And this is what you have been doing, Mr. 
Craig, in these months since we saw you ! ” exclaimed 
Jasper, who had formed a great admiration for this 
enthusiastic, young cleryman. “I don’t wonder at 
you for declining Bellevue Church ! ” 

I still wonder at the call, Mr. Hamilton. I was 
such a great stranger among you. Only that one 
Sunday here. I thought most likely all had for- 
gotten the events of that day except myself.” 

Oh ! you made quite a stir in our quiet little 
town,” said Mrs. Hamilton. <^The call was a conse- 
quence of that Sunday night’s sermon, but all knew 
of your kind and skilful attention to Judge Talbot. 
Personally I felt greatly indebted to you for relieving 
me of so much anxious care in the absence of Dr. 
Butler.” 

And the judge is loud in his praises,” said 
Jasper. ‘^It ’s a pity you can’t meet.” 

I ’m glad he recovered. You see him, do 
you ? ” 

Yes ; he ’s been here several times. He never 
fails to stop as he ’s going back and forth to court. 


318 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

He says mother’s kindness during his illness is 
something he cannot forget.” 

‘‘Judge Talbot won’t trust the stage, though, 
after that accident,” said Agnes. “He travels on 
horseback.” 

Don, as he listened, thought, “ The judge already 
has more foothold here than I can ever hope to 
have.” 

When Don took leave, the touch of Agnes’s hand 
seemed to him like a farewell, though her mother 
said, “ I sincerely hope we shall see you again some 
day, Mr. Craig, for you have greatly interested us 
in your work.” 

The interview had been a long and delightful 
one ; it grieved Don there could be no more. “ But 
it is my own choice,” thought he, as he turned 
away from the house ; “ and I don’t see how it can 
be otherwise. Agnes has n’t had me ii\ her thoughts 
since that first day as I have had her in mine. How 
different it might be if I were staying here ; then 
I might hope to win her, but now — And there is 
the judge coming often.” 

It seemed to Don as if his star had set, just 
when he was in fullest enjoyment of its radiance ; 
for that hour in the presence of Agnes had been 
bliss. 


DON'S CALL TO BELLEVUE. 


319 


But soon his serenity returned, for it was his 
habit in trouble and perplexity to turn to One who 
had promised to bear his burdens. ‘^^He leadeth 
me.’ If it is away from Agnes, so be it. He, Him- 
self, will be my joy.” 

That evening a number of gentlemen called on 
Don in the interest of Bellevue Church, having been 
invited by Dr. Butler, who was determined to leave 
no effort untried to secure this promising young 
minister, to whom he had taken a great liking. 
But Don was still firm in declining. He had given 
a far more serious and thorough consideration to 
their call than they imagined ; they did not know 
all its attractions to him ; and still he heard a voice 
they could not hear, calling him back to his work 
among those sheep in the wilderness. 

The next morning he left Bellevue. Dr. Butler, 
as he rode with him on his way to see a country 
patient, expressed his deep regret and disappoint- 
ment. 

don’t know when I ’ve set my heart on any- 
thing more than on getting you here, Mr. Craig,” 
he said. ‘‘1 was so carried away by that skilful 
bit of surgery, and then by that sermon, preached 
on the spur of the moment, and yet perfect, though 
you did n’t know it. Oh ! why should you go back 


320 CHILHOWEE BOTS IN BABNESS, 


to that field you have been telling us of, to live in 
obscurity, or more likely die from overwork ? 

“Do I look as if I was in danger of that. Dr. 
Butler ? 

“No; but your story sounds so. Strange, how 
you and Judge Talbot came into my interest to- 
gether; and the judge is the one who finds it easy 
to come back and forth, when I M so much sooner 
it had been you.” 

“ It ’s pleasant to be wanted. I hn glad I have 
won such a place in your esteem. But what have 
you against the judge ? ” 

“ Nothing, really, except that he ’s not as wise 
as a man of his learning should be. He is infatu- 
ated with Miss Hamilton ; that is what brings him, 
though she gives him no encouragement, I imagine. 
At any rate he ^11 find his mistake if he ever conies 
to the point, for Miss Hamilton will* never marry 
a slaveholder ; I know that for a certainty.” 

“ But her mother has ” — 

“ Slaves ? no, never ! Mrs. Hamilton is an east- 
ern lady, and holds different views from those here- 
about; but she is finely cultivated, of good family, 
a grand educator; we are pleased to welcome her. 
Of course she must have servants ; we are glad to 
hire them to her, for she does well by them. But 


don's call to BELLEVUE. 821 

there 's no hope for the judge, for his fortune is 
in slaves.’^ 

After parting with Dr. Butler, Don pursued his 
solitary journey. The doctor’s last words were a 
revelation. Here was a new point in unison be- 
tween him and the Hamiltons. Certainly with such 
views the judge was not in the way. And again 
hopes and visions took possession of Don’s mind. 


322 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


* 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Powell’s valley. 

HAVE decided to make Don a visit/^ said Par- 
son Craig one day, after reading the letter which 
his son had written, telling of his Sunday at Belle- 
vue. 

“I ’m glad to hear it, Donald,’’ said his wife. 

Don lost his trip home by being so generous to 
that strange church. There ’s no knowing when 
he ’ll be able to take another holiday. But it 
will be more than made up to him when he sees 
you.” 

This is the first letter Don ever wrote that I 
did n’t understand,” continued his father, glancing 
at the letter again. 

It looks as if he did n’t enjoy his visit to 
Bellevue,” said his mother. 

Yes, though he does n’t say so ; and naturally 
such an event ought to be very gratifying.” 

I have an idea he did n’t care for the place, he 
had so little to say about his first visit there.” 


POWELL'S valley. 


323 


I remember. It seemed to make no impression 
on liim, but he must have done or said something 
that impressed the people ; preached well, no doubt, 
or he ^d never have got that call. Now he tells 
almost nothing, even about this last event. It ’s 
set me thinking.” 

“ I hope he ’s not sorry he declined the call.” 

“No, he can’t be; his reasons were good; I ap- 
j)roved them. But it ’s not like our Don to be 
reserved about pleasant or important matters.” 

“He can hardly be sick, for he writes as if he 
was hard at work again.” 

“The thing ’s a puzzle. I can’t be satisfied till 
I see him.” 

So Parson Craig took the three days’ ride which 
lay between him and his son. Don had not been 
home in the year and a half since his work began. 
The time had seemed long to the parson; for this 
boy was his Joseph, whose presence was joy to 
him. 

He was glad when he drew near to the mountain 
with its rocky crown ; now Don’s home was not 
far off. 

Yes, here was the church, and the little parson- 
age, and Buncombe cropping grass beside the fence. 
The parson had intended to take Don by surprise, 


324 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HABNESS. 


but Buncombe’s glad whinny at sight of him brought 
his master to the door. It pleased the father to 
see that his son looked bright and well. 

•‘0 father, you ’ve come just when I wanted you ! 
How could you know it ? ” 

‘‘Mayhap because my heart is as your heart, my 
son.” 

Don had thought that he could never tell the 
true story of those two visits to Bellevue to mortal 
ears, for it was Agnes’s story. 

But that evening, sitting with his father in his 
quiet study, he told him all. The parson listened, 
absorbed, entranced. This went beyond his im- 
aginings. How charming Don’s simple love-story 
sounded in the father’s ears, and how interesting 
were all the accompanying events. 

“Now, what are you going to do, Don?” asked 
the parson, when the tale was ended. 

“I ’m thinking of writing to Mrs. Hamilton,” 
said Don. 

“That will do right well for the first step. I 
hope you will not take too long to think about it, 
though. It seems to me the time for action has 
come. Since this second visit to Bellevue you can 
no longer dream of far-off bliss ; you want it near 
at hand, and soon, not waiting for the eternal years. 


POWELL'S VALLEY. 


325 


Human nature is differently constituted from that, 
though the thought of a never ending future is 
what gives life to present joys.” 

“ Yes, and makes even the waiting years happy,” 
said Don. 

The next morning, though the parson rose early, 
he found Don already in his study, writing. A 
finished letter, folded, ready for sealing, lay on his 
desk, while he wrote another. 

^‘1 have taken your advice, father, about not de- 
laying ; see ! ” The letter beside him was directed 
to Mrs. Hamilton. 

I trusted you would. May God’s blessing be 
on your effort, my son ! ” 

The father was pleased to see that Don’s mind 
was evidently at ease. Presently the second letter 
was finished. 

‘‘Won’t you please look over this, father, while 
I begin to seal ? It ’s a letter to Dr. Butler about 
Collins. It strikes me that he may be the right 
man for Bellevue Church.” 

“ I should n’t be surprised. It ’s just such a 
position as his father has been wanting to hear of 
for him. Dr. Collins wrote me that he intended 
to keep his son for his assistant till something very 
desirable offered.” 


326 CniLHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


‘MYell, I think Bellevue will satisfy them. And 
a cultivated man like Collins will just lit there. 
He has two educations, you may say ; studied law 
as well as theology, you know.’^ 

I really hope they ’ll want him. I ’m fond of 
Horton Collins, and Ken and Hugh will be delighted 
if he gets a good berth. You ’ve done well by him 
in this letter, Don.” 

I have n’t said more than he deserves. It ’s 
strange, but really I did n’t think of him in con- 
nection with this vacancy till after I had finished 
my letter to Mrs. Hamilton.” 

“ I can’t wonder,” thought the parson. The per- 
plexities of love are a new experience to our serene- 
minded Don.” 

“How we ’ll have breakfast,” said Don, having 
sealed his letters. “ Then, as we rid^ to the mail, 
I can show you something of our valley.” 

“ I rode through it yesterday with mj^ eyes open, 
and rejoiced that it was your lot to live in the 
midst of such beauty and grandeur.” 

“Yes; I have something that helps to make up 
for Chilhowee, and my work does the rest.” 

The parson had but a few days to spare for the 
visit, but there was a Sunday in them. He preached 
in Don’s church,, which made it a proud day for 


POWELL'S VALLEY. 


827 


the young pastor, who thought no other clergyman 
his father’s equal. 

Parson Craig learned more about Don’s work in 
that visit than a year of letters could tell. And 
he more than ever approved his remaining. 

It is a spot from which you can influence many ; 
you have already won your people’s hearts. I am 
beginning to hope you will be as happy here as I 
have been in Chilhowee.” 

0 father, that would be wonderful ! ” 

Yes ; but you are enough like me, Don, to make 
me think it possible.” 

Don remembered Agnes’s eyes, as she listened to 
his description of his home, his mountain views. 
AVhat an opportunity that day had given him ! He 
was glad she knew of his work and of the simple 
style in which he lived, tenting with the mountain- 
eers, camping with the salt caravans. She seemed 
in sympathy with it all. Oh ! if he could but win 
her, his heart’s desire, what happiness might be 
his ! 

‘‘You must have a new parsonage here before 
you bring home a bride,” his father said, interrupt- 
ing Don’s reverie. 

“ 0 father, your thoughts fly far ahead ! ” 

But the parson pleased himself by drawing a 


328 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


plan for Don’s new house in the last hour of his 
visit. 

When, some weeks later, Don wrote that Mrs. 
Hamilton had consented to a correspondence between 
him and her daughter Agnes, the father thought, 
^‘Now Don has clear sailing, he has a chance to 
win his prize ; ” for he knew well what charming 
letters his son could write. 

Now time went on wings in Powell’s Valley, and 
in Chilhowee Valley as well ; for the parson was 
happy and satisfied regarding all his sons. John 
seemed to fit in wonderfully well at his grand- 
father’s, who planned now to give him charge of 
his farm when he became of age. 

“That is well,” said Parson Craig to his wife, 
when his father first proposed it. “ Property which 
has been in our family for five generations should 
be prized and well cared for, and John is the one 
to be proud of the responsibility.” 

“ Yes, it will make him feel of consequence, and 
that is gratifying to one of John’s disposition.” 

“ To whom is it not ? that ’s human nature. 
And here ’s Alec for the home farm ; I suppose I 
ought to be satisfied that those two boys did n’t 
care to go to college, when we see how much they 
’re needed on father’s place and our own.” 


POWELL^ S VALLEY, 


329 


At last J ohn came home on his long-promised 
visit, riding up to his father^s door like a conquer- 
ing hero, at least so it seemed to Alec and Bess. 
His parents now saw in this once wayward son all 
that their hearts desired. 

could n’t wait a day longer, mother,” said 
John. It seemed as if Chestnut could n’t go fast 
enough after I once got into the valley. I believe 
I ’m as glad to get home as I was to go away, oh, 
gladder ! ” 

That may well be, my son ; for you make us 
all happy now. What a man you ’ve grown to 
be!” 

“ You ’re every bit as tall as Ken,” said Alec. 

’ll be taller yet. Grandpa thinks I ’ll not 
stop till I ’m six foot two.” 

Very likely,” said the parson. “ That was his 
father’s height, and you ’re just his build.” 

^^You ’ll all look like giants when Hugh gets 
home,” said Bessie. ^^He ’ll always be our little 
brother.” 

^^But you won’t be our little sister much longer,” 
laughed John. It set him to counting the time he 
had been away when he saw how Bess had grown. 

<^Hugh ’s tall enough,” said Alec, ^‘but he ’s so 
slim.” 


330 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


John had only arrived that morning ; but he w as 
so eager to renew his acquaintance with all the old 
Chilhowee scenes, and to see his friends and rela- 
tives, that Alec and he started immediately after 
dinner to ride to Kenneth’s. 

^‘1 want to see little Janet, of all things,” John 
said. Ken wrote to me that she was the sweetest 
and prettiest child that ever lived.” 

So she is,” agreed Alec. You don’t know 
what fun it is to be an uncle so long as you have n’t 
seen her.” 

“Well, Chestnut will soon carry me to Dr. Ken’s 
now.” 

Presently John became silent. Alec thought he 
was absorbed in looking at the once familiar scenes 
through which they were passing? But John had 
a burden on his mind regarding Alec, and now had 
come the time for ridding himself of it, since they 
were alone together, and could speak freely. He 
suddenly said, — 

“ Alec, you ’re just the same age now that I was 
when I wanted to go away from here so badly that 
I sometimes thought I ’d even run away ; do you 
never feel so ? I wish you ’d tell me truly whether 
you don’t want to go on a long, long holiday like 
the one I had.” 


POWELL'S VALLEY, 


331 


Why, no ! ” exclaimed Alec in surprise. “ I like 
Chilhowee better than any other place. I always 
said so, even before you went away.” 

“ Yes, I know ; but would n’t you feel different if 
you knew you had a chance ? You ’ve never been 
anywhere.” 

Oil yes, I have ! to Maryville, and Willowdale ; 
I was there a whole week.” 

And that contents you ! a week ! ” 

It seemed a long time, because I learned so much 
that I ’d been wanting to know. I was studying 
about birds with Dr. Temple ; and now I can go on 
by myself, and it ’s like play. I ’ll show you my 
collection the first chance. I ’m adding to it all 
the time. It ’s such a pleasure to me to find a rare 
bird.” 

‘‘I wish you could see the strange birds that 
sometimes come flitting about at grandpa’s.” 

‘^I reckon I shall some day. Father ’ll spare me 
for a visit there when he can. That,^ ’s a kind of 
going away I ’d like.” 

‘‘ Oh ! I know you would. And would n’t I just 
like to see you there ! But I was thinking if you 
wanted to go on the same kind of a trip I did, I ’d 
help you. I ’ve got money now, and I ’d like to 
do it.” 


332 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


“ Oh ! I would n’t go on that sort of travels ! I 
could n’t be persuaded,” said home-loving Alec. 

I reckon not, because you ’re different from me. 
But I ’m glad I went, even when I remember all 
the troubles I got into. Staying at grandpa’s is a 
great deal better, but I never should have believed 
it if I had n’t seen the world. But even if you 
won’t go away, I want you to have this money.” 
John brought his horse close enough to Alec’s to 
put a purse into his hand. 

It was a long knitted purse of many colored silk 
and steel beads, with bead tassels and steel rings 
to keep the money safe. The coins looked tempt- 
ing as they shone through the meshes. 

“ Oh, thank you, John ! how generous you are ! 
but I don’t think you ought to give it to me. I 
don’t need it.” 

^‘1 won’t be satisfied unless you take it, Alec. 
It belongs to you, truly.” John spoke very ear- 
nestly. W^en I went away, and left you to take 
care of the farm all alone, I felt very sorry about 
it, but was going to make it straight by sending 
you money as soon as ever I got any, but I kept 
losing ; you know all about that. When I got to 
grandpa’s I had only two fips left.” 

“0 John! it ’s enough to keep me from want- 


POWELL'S VALLEY. 


833 


ing to travel just to hear about all you went 
through.’’ 

But it seemed as if it was all made up the very 
first day I got to grandpa’s. Oh, how kind they 
were ! I can just see their faces now, the way 
they looked at me ! Grandma hurried to get supper 
quick, and grandpa hunted up some of his clothes for 
me. I sat at the table dressed in one of grandpa’s 
suits, even to his boots ! and I don’t think I ever 
felt so happy, or talked so fast.” John laughed ; 
it was pleasant to remember. 

Then I studied surveying, and grandpa said I 
ought to do some work to clinch it in my mind. He 
found a job for me not far from home, and I was 
glad to do it. When I got paid, I put half the 
money in that purse that grandma gave me, and 
saved it for you.” 

The happy ring in John’s voice showed how glad 
he was to think that at last he was straight with 
his brother; though generous, simple-hearted Alec 
had never felt that he owed him anything. John 
would not listen to any of Alec’s protests against 
receiving the money. 

It ’s yours, Alec. I don’t need it. Grandpa 
gives me enough for everything. When I ’m twenty- 
one he wants me to take charge of the farm, and 


834 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

then I ’ll be really rich. When I first got that 
money, I thought it would help to buy you a horse. 
I wanted you to have one as good as Chestnut ; and 
now you have, since Uncle Alec ’s given you Lib- 
erty. Now you will be able to use the money for 
something else, just whatever you want to.” 

^^Was n’t it wonderful that Uncle Alec had a 
fine horse ready for me just when Snip was past 
work? But he ’s always remembering me some 
way or other. It ’s worth while to be named Alex- 
ander Murray Craig. Uncle called him Liberty 
because he looked like his old war-horse that was 
shot from under him in battle. Mother says we 
ought always to keep the name, to remember Great- 
Uncle Alec’s horse, that carried him safe through 
the Eevolution.” 

Presently it was Alec’s turn to be silent. That 
purse in his pocket had set him to thinking. He 
was a boy not quick at deciding, always taking 
time to consider ; but when once his decision was 
made, he was satisfied to abide by it. 

Suddenly he said, 1 know how I ’d like to 
spend this money, John; and it ’s in travelling, 
after all ! ” 

John was pleased. I thought you ’d want to 
go somewhere, if you began to think about it.” 


POWELL'S VALLEY. 


835 


“ Yes ; and it ’ll give me the greatest pleasure in 
the world if I can do it.” Alec’s eyes sparkled. 

It ’s to ride to Kentucky and back with Dr. 
Temple. Think of the chance for new birds ! The 
doctor ’s going soon to see about his property there. 
Ken can tell us all his plans. He hears often 
from Willowdale.” 

‘‘As soon as we get home I ’ll ask father to let 
you go,” said John. “ And I think he certainly 
will ; for he agreed to my plan, though that was 
only a wild-goose chase.” 

“ This will be a wild-bird chase. 0 John ! your 
money ’s going to give me a very great deal of pleas- 
ure.” 

For some time John enjoyed the enviable distinc- 
tion of being of first importance in the family cir- 
cle. When at last his visit was over, and he was 
returning to his grandfather’s, Alec and he rode 
together for the first stage, as far as Willowdale, 
where Alec was to meet Dr. Temple, and begin that 
pleasant holiday which John’s generosity had made 
possible. 

“ But I ’m coming back, father,” Alec said at 
parting. “That ’s really the best of it.” 

“ It certainly is to us, my son,” said the parson. 

“We ’ll all be glad to come back whenever we 


336 CHILUOWEE BOYS IN UARNESS. 


can,” said John, “to revisit the old stamping-ground, 
as grandfather says.” 

“ But you ’re every one of you glad as can be to 
get away,” said Bess. 

“ That is what makes happy partings,” said her 
mother. 

“ Yes,” said her father ; “ if I must part with my 
children, I ’m glad to see them ride away with light 
hearts and smiling faces.” 


A GREAT CATASTROPHE. 


337 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A GREAT CATASTROPHE. 

Baby Alan, or Little Massa ’’ as he was often 
called, was the idol of the whole Baird household. 
He had such hold on his father’s heart that Alan 
often gave up his most cherished pleasures that he 
might fondle or amuse the child. 

“ I don’t believe I was ever as happy in my life, 
Phoebe, as since I ’ve had this sweet child for my 
pet,” said the devoted grandmother. 

I think I was as happy that year in Virginia,” 
said Phoebe. I can never forget Aunt Rachel’s 
kindness.” 

‘^Xo, of course not. And I do believe you would 
have been glad to stay with her.” 

Not without you, ma. But I love Aunt Rachel 
dearly.” 

‘‘Well, little Alan’s more to me than any sister. 
I don’t see how I could live without seeing him 
every day. And here ’s Nettie beginning to talk of 
taking him on a visit to her father. I can’t bear 


388 CIIILIIOWEE BOYS IN IIABNESS, 


the thought of parting with the child even for 
that.” 

Don’t worry about it, ma. You know Alan 
does n’t like Dr. Thompson. He ’ll put the trip 
off as long as he can.” 

^^Well, now, Phoebe,” said her father, reckon 
the old doctor ’ll treat him mighty well when he ’s 
got such a fine child as little Alan to show him. 
He ’ll be as proud of that baby as we are.” 

Yes, and coax for a long visit,” said Mrs. Baird. 
“ Nettie would agree to it, I ’m afraid.” 

‘^Well, ma,” argued Mr. Baird, ‘‘when you know 
parting would break your heart, you ought n’t to 
allow yourself to be so wrapped up in the child.” 

“As if I could help it, husband! You know I 
was just as devoted to our Alan and Phoebe when 
they were little.” 

Well, there was more reason for that.” 

It seemed to Mrs. Baird that now the only crook 
in her lot was that some day she might have to part 
with the baby. And, after borrowing trouble for a 
long time, the dreaded day at last came. 

Thad rode over to the parsonage with the baby 
in his arms. 

“Little Massa come to say good-by, Mrs. Craig.” 

“ 0 Thad ! is Alan really starting for Eastboro ? ” 


A GIII:A7' catastbophe. 


339 


“ Yes, ma’am ; to-morrer, drekly arter brekfus’ 
dey ’s all goin’. Miss Nettie ’s set her heart on 
wisicatin’, an’ Doc Alan ’s keen fer de trip, an’ de 
ole doctor ’s sent fer ’em, ’cause he ’s hankerin’ fer 
to see Little Massa.” 

I don’t wonder ; Dr. Thompson will be delighted 
to see him, for he ’s a beautiful child.” 

De purtiest dat eber wuz ! Dat ’s what we all 
thinks. He two year ole now, an’ he kin walk, 
an’ talk, an’ his fur-off gran’fer ain’t goin’ ter wait 
no longer; dey got ter tote Little Massa right up 
de road to his house, dat ’s what he ’s writ; an’ 
it ’s a pow’ful long way off, too, dat ’s de pity of 
it.” 

Yes, I ’m sorry for Mrs. Baird. I know how 
she ’ll miss the child. Come to me, dear. Oh, how 
well he walks ! See, Bessie, he ’s as firm on his feet 
as little Janet, though she ’s older.” 

Janet was running about everywhere the last 
time I was up at Ken’s, and talking ; you ought to 
hear her, Thad,” said Bessie, who did not think any 
baby the equal of her little niece. 

Dis chile ’u’d be caperin’ rouii’, too, if he felt 
to hum, an’ he kin say ’most everything when he has 
a mine ter. Say ^ gran’daddy,’ Little Massa; dar! 
jes’ listen at him ! Now, ain’t he peart ? ” 


340 CIIILIIOWEE BOYS IN IIABNESS. 


The child was persuaded to display all his little 
accomplishments. 

^‘Such a sweet, smiling baby,” said Mrs. Craig. 

I ’m sorry to say good-by to him, Thad.” 

‘‘Mistis am de one dat ’s sorry. I ’low she ’d 
be ’mos’ willin’ to go along, sooner ’n live widout 
him. Now we mus’ be trottin’. Mistis said she 
could n’t spare de baby long.” 

That evening all the Baird family sat on Alan’s 
porch. Mrs. Baird held the baby while Nettie and 
she talked of the next day’s journey, for which all 
the preparations were made. 

Alan was in high -spirits ; he felt that he was 
returning to his father-in-law’s house in triumph. 

I can take the upper hand now with Dr. Thompson,” 
thought he. He ’ll have to treat me like a person 
of importance if he wants the pleasure of little 
Alan’s company long. I ’ll soon let the old fellow 
know that.” 

‘‘ Do you think it likely the doctor ’ll want to 
keep you up there as partner, Alan ? ” asked his 
father. 

‘‘1 should n’t wonder if he did, pa.” 

0 Alan, don’t let him tempt you to stay ! ” ex- 
claimed his mother. You have patients here that 
you ought to come back to.” 


A GBBAT CATASTROPHE. 


341 


“They ’d all be satisfied to go to Ken Craig, ma. 
But I ’m not ready yet for the hard work I ’d find 
up there. Nettie and I are counting on a fine long 
holiday. There ’s no telling when you ’ll see us 
back, for I want to persuade her to go to Virginia to 
Aunt Bachel’s after she gets tired of staying at her 
father’s.” 

“ Yes, ma,” said Nettie. “ I think that ’s what 
we ’ll do. I ’m quite in the notion of it. We ’re 
taking Till and Sol along, so we ’ll not have any 
trouble with the baby or the horses.” 

“ 0 Nettie, you tell your worst news last ! Alan, 
how can you think of such a plan ? ” Mrs. Baird 
was trembling so with distress that she had to give 
little Alan to his mother for fear of frightening him. 

“ Ma, they ’ll not do it,” said Phoebe. “ Nettie 
and Alan are just teasing us.” 

“ No such thing, Phoebe,” said Alan. “ Why 
should n’t we go on when we ’re once started ? 
Eastboro ’s half way to Aunt Kachel’s.” 

“ O Alan, think how long you ’d keep the baby 
away from us ! ” protested his mother. 

“ Well now, ma, I reckon you ’ve forgotten how 
you and Phoebe stayed away from us a whole year, 
visiting Aunt Eachel. Our turn ’s come now.” 

“ I don’t think it would be polite to put that visit 


342 CIIILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

off much longer, ma,” said Nettie, after such cor- 
dial invitations as we We had.” 

We were just waiting till the baby got big enough 
to travel,” said Alan ; everybody knows that.” 

Yes,” said Nettie, that ’s what made pa 
patient.” 

But now the child will really enjoy the journey, 
ma,” said Mr. Baird ; for he does n’t like anything 
better than riding with Alan ; I ’ve noticed that.” 

Yes, that ’s true, pa ; he ’s fonder of me than of 
anybody else,” boasted the proud young father. I 
just wish you ’d stop fretting, ma, and be as happy 
as you were before we began to pack up. You can 
trust me to take care of my own child, I’m sure.” 

Thad came riding up the lane on Hawkeye ; he 
had been to the blacksmith’s to have him new shod 
for Alan’s journey. 

Hold on, Thad ; stop here ! ” cried Alan. << Little 
Massa wants a ride ! ” 

The child clapped his hands and crowed with de- 
light as Alan rode up and down the garden path, 
holding him before him on the saddle. Everybody 
looked at the bright happy baby and his father, who 
shouted merrily, — 

“This is the way the doctor rides ; 

Gallopin’ gee! gallopin’ gee!” 


A GliEAT CATASTBOPHK 


343 


Alan, thoughtless and gleeful as any child, waved 
his hand while Hawkey e was taking quick steps, 
obeying his master’s humor. 

It was only a moment’s neglect; but in it little 
Alan, missing the restraining hand, slipped from his 
seat, and fell heavily to the ground. Every one on 
the porch screamed in dismay. Alan sprang from 
his horse ; but it was Thad, speechless with horror, 
who picked up the unconscious baby, and placed him 
in the arms of his weeping, terrified grandmother. 

Never was such a night as when little Alan lay 
unconscious in his cradle. Nettie was so overcome 
with grief and anxiety as to be useless in the emer- 
gency. Alan, though very much alarmed himself, 
would not admit it, but tried to be reassuring. 

He has no broken bones,” he said. I ’m sure 
of that, Nettie.” 

But he does n’t know me, Alan ; so there must 
be something dreadful the matter. Oh, I do wish 
pa was here ! he ’d know just what to do.” 

As if I did n’t know myself. The baby ’s 
stunned ; but he ’ll come to, you need n’t be afraid 
he Avon’t.” 

But I am, Alan,” sobbed Mrs. Baird, as she 
watched the child. “ I think he ’s going to die.” 

Now, ma, frightening Nettie, so that she has to 


844 CIllLHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS, 

run away, about a strong, healthy baby like this, too, 
that ’s never been sick a day in his life. I ’d just 
like you to remember how many times I Ve got 
hurt, — been thrown from my horse, and all kinds of 
things ; but I got over everything. And babies get 
sick and well again in an hour.” 

But this baby is n^t sick, he ’s hurt,” said Mrs. 
Baird. Alan! I ’m so afraid his spine ’s in- 

jured.” 

“ Or his brain,” said Mr. Baird. I ’m beginning 
to tliink it ’s something very serious, Alan. You 
ought to have help. Ken would come as fast as he 
could, though it is night.” 

Oh, do send for Ken ! ” urged his mother. ‘^Thad 
can go right off. He ’s staying here on purpose to 
help.” 

The vision came to Alan of Kenneth standing be- 
side his little innocent child, hurt and like to die 
through its father’s cruel thoughtlessness. How 
could he endure it, he, who had been, so boastful, 
so triumphant about his boy ? What would be Ken- 
neth’s verdict ? It seemed as if he heard him say, 
“You are your child’s murderer.” 

He turned almost fiercely on his father and 
mother, and said, “ Ko, I won’t send for him ! Ken 
Craig sha’n’t come near my baby ! ” 


A GREAT CATASTROPHE. 


345 


“ Then, what in the world will you do ? ” Mrs. 
Baird felt desperate. ‘^He ’s getting worse ! Don’t 
you see he is ? You ought to have Dr. Smith if you 
won’t have Ken. 0 Phoebe ! who could think of our 
having such trouble as this ? Pa, can’t you call 
Thad ? maybe he could tell us something to do.” 

Why, ma, you don’t talk as if I was any kind of 
a doctor,” said Alan. I reckon I know as much as 
anybody about here. It must be the hot night that 
keeps the baby from getting better. If it was day- 
time we ’d have him out of doors, and he ’d soon be- 
gin to pick up. I ’ll tell you what I ’ll do. I ’ll get 
off on that trip with the first streak of day. It ’ll 
be the best thing for little Alan.” 

Well, Alan ! ” Even Mr. Baird was astonished. 

Ma and I thought, of course, the journey was 
given up.” 

Oh, you can’t take this sick, suffering child jolt- 
ing over that long road ! ” 

Yes, I can, ma ; I ’d like to know who has the 
say so about my boy. But you need n’t bother 
about the jolting. I reckon I know how to manage 
so it ’ll be as easy as a cradle.” 

I don’t see how you ’d dare to meet Dr. Thomp- 
son with the child in this state, Alan,” said his 
mother. 


346 CIIILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

Did n’t I say lie ’d be better before we got tliere, 
ma ? And it ’s the only way that will satisfy Nettie, 
so that ought to settle it.” 

Nettie became more cheerful when she found they 
were still to go, and at Mrs. Baird’s suggestion lay 
down to try to get some sleep before the time for 
starting. 

Alan did not allow himself to consider whether or 
not his decision was wise. 

Of course I don’t want to meet Dr. Thompson 
now,” thought he. “ Ma ’s right there, but it would 
n’t be as bad as having Dr. Ken about when I ’m in 
such trouble. I ’ll not endure that ; and ma ’ll send 
for him whether or no, if I don’t get off, she ’s got 
herself so worked up. And she ’ll tell Ken all about 
how it happened. I see how they all blame me, 
when it was all pure accident. Up at the doctor’s 
we can be as close-mouthed as we choose, that ’s the 
comfort of it. But oh, what awful trouble I ’m in ! ” 

In the early dawn the unhappy travellers started. 
Mrs. Baird went back into the house, and sat in 
the big splint rocking-chair beside the empty cradle. 
How she had loved that seat in all the months it 
had been her privilege to watch and tend little 
Alan ; but now she sat there heart-broken, shedding 
bitter tears, thinking this woe the worst in all her life. 


A GREAT CATA STROP TIE. 


347 


Ma/’ said Phoebe, ‘‘ let ’s go home. Pa ’s wait- 
ing for us, and Thad ’s gone to get breakfast ready.’’ 

But Mrs. Baird shook her head, and Phoebe busied 
herself in setting the room in order. It seemed to 
her mother like getting ready for a funeral. The 
morning was very dark, not a ray of sunshine ap- 
peared. I wish Alan had been weather-wise,” 
thought Phoebe, as she saw the gathering clouds. 
“ Ma,” she said, we ought to go right away ; we 
won’t more than get home before it rains.” 

0 child ! is that what ’s making it so dark ? 
Yes, we ’ll have to go.” 

But her decision came too late ; the rain poured 
down before they left the porch, and they were 
obliged to return to the house. 

Oh ! that poor baby, what will become of him ? ” 
wailed Mrs. Baird. Why did n’t we know this 
storm was coming ? ” 

^^Ma, Alan was so wild to get off we could n’t 
have stopped him, even if we ’d been sure it would 
rain.” 

‘^No; he was like a frantic man. And we were 
all too busy to watch the sky. We ’ll have to 
stay here now till this gust ’s over.” And again 
Mrs. Baird sat down to cry beside the empty cradle. 

1 can’t bear to have you wait so long for your 


348 chiliiowe'e boys in harness. 

breakfast, ma. I could call Jen from the quarter, 
and give out from Nettie’s stores, if you could eat 
what she cooks.” 

I can’t eat anything, Phoebe ; but you ought to 
have your breakfast, after being up all night. It ’s 
a new experience to you.” 

Don’t think of me, ma ; I ’m not hungry.” 

They sat in the quiet, desolate house, watching 
the storm. 

“ The baby will be drenched to the skin,” said 
Mrs. Baird ; he was in one of his summer, frocks.” 

“Nettie took plenty of warm clothes for him, 
and a blanket. I helped her pack them.” 

“Yes; but they ’re in the budget on Till’s horse. 
Alan can’t get at them in a hurry. The child ’s not 
fit to go through any more dangers. His strength 
was gone when they started. 0 Phoebe ! how dread- 
ful it was to see him fall off that horse, just when 
he was so happy ! ” 

The time seemed very long to the sad-hearted 
women. 

Suddenly Phoebe said, “ Ma, we ought to have a 
fire here in case the rain drives Alan home again.” 

“It won’t. Nothing will stop him. We ought to 
know Alan by this time.” 

“If he ’s got any sense left, he ’ll come back. 


A GBUAT CATASTBOPHK 


349 


He can’t have gone far. Oh ! I ’ll call Jen, and 
have that fire built.” It was^a comfort to Phoebe 
to find 'something to do. 

She went to the back porch, and looked towards 
the quarter. The door was shut, no smoke came 
from the chimney. She called Jen and Tip, and 
even the children’s names, but no answer came. 

“Ma, I can’t make them hear in all this storm. 
Alan ought n’t to have built his quarter so far 
from the house. I thought Jen would have been 
getting Tip’s breakfast, but there ’s no sign of a 
fire.” 

They must be all asleep, Phoebe. They had n’t 
much rest last night. Never mind about the fire. 
I ’m going home the very minute the rain holds 
up. It will drive me distracted to stay much longer 
in this house.” 

The day was very warm; there was no need of 
a fire, except for the possibility that the baby might 
be brought back, of which even Phoebe had very 
little hope. She sat by the open door. I hear a 
horse trotting, ma,” she said presently. 

Your pa ’s sent Thad with our breakfast, per- 
haps.” 

No, it ’s not in the lane. It ’s coming down 
the road.” 


350 


CIIILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


Oil ! I hope it ’s not one of Alan’s patients 
wanting him. I begged him to let them all know 
when he was going away.” 

“It would be just like Alan if he did n’t. But 
it ’ll be a great pity if somebody ’s coming in all this 
storm, just to miss him. I ’ll be really ashamed.” 

Phoebe stood on the porch to watch and listen. 
“ Whoever it is, is turning into the lane,” she said. 
“ 0 ma ! It ’s Alan coming back ! He ’s hurrying 
ahead of the others ! ” 

Alan put the drenched baby into Mrs. Baird’s 
outstretched arms ; and as she looked at its blue, 
rigid face, she thought it was surely dead. 

Alan was now evidently much alarmed ; but he 
said, “ No, ma ; but he has a chill from getting wet. 
He must be wrapped in hot blankets right away. 
Why have n’t you a fire ready ? I thought, of course, 
you ’d expect me back when you saw the rain. Do 
somebody call Jen or Tip to light a fire. We ’re 
all as wet as water can make us.” 

“ Till can go,” said Nettie, who had now arrived, 
and was hovering over the baby, while Mrs. Baird 
undressed him. “ Bun, Till ; get your father or 
mother to come quick.” 

“We want them both, right away,” said Alan. 

“I ’m afraid they ’re asleep,” said his mother. 


A GBFAT CATASTBOPIIE. 


551 


We should have had the fire, Alan, if Phoebe could 
only have made them hear.” 

Oh ! I reckon they he just smoking their pipes 
in the quarter, hiding from the rain. They think 
we he all gone, and they hi take holiday ; but they hi 
find it h different. This baby hi keep everybody 
running. Ma, where h Thad ? Did n’t you say he 
could ride for Ken ? I want him to go as fast as 
pah best horse can trot.” 

He will, of course ; but he h gone home, Alan. 
You hi have to send Tip or Sol to call him.” 

I thought you knew Sol had n’t come back,” 
said Alan. He h gone on to Eastboro to fetch 
Dr. Thompson.” 

It ’s a good thing,” said Mrs. Baird. But she 
felt all the more distressed, for she saw now that 
Alan thought the baby’s case was desperate. 

I can’t be satisfied, ma,” said Nettie, till pa 
sees little Alan. He knows all about children, and 
he ’s so very skilful. Oh, I wish he was here now ! ” 

Yes,” said Alan; ^‘but we can’t look for him 
under three days.” 

Oh, yes, we can, Alan ! pa ’ll ride night and 
day to get to the baby when he knows how dread- 
ful it all is.” 

I reckon he will, but Sol won’t do as much go- 


352 CIIILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


ing up the road. Oh ! where ’s that fire ? Cau’t we 
get hold of Thad or Tip or anybody ? not even pa ? 
This baby needs everything tliat anybody can do. 
These blankets are never going to warm him. I 
want Ken and Dr. Smith both, since I can’t get Dr. 
Thompson in a hurry. Oh, here ’s Thad — and pa ! 
I ’m glad he ’s come, for we want his horse.” 

The basket of breakfast Thad had brought stood 
untouched, unnoticed. Mrs. Baird and Phoebe gave 
no thought to their own needs that morning; their 
hearts were too anxious. 

Thad rode for Dr. Craig, and Tip for Dr. Smith ; 
the two physicians lived in opposite directions. 
Mr. Baird made a fire ; and Alan used all the reme- 
dies he could devise, but every one could see that 
he was frightened and hopeless. 

‘‘ 0 Alan, he looks worse than he did last night ! 
Oh, my poor baby!” wailed Nettie. 

He is worse,” said Mrs. Baird. He ’s sick 
now as well as hurt. 0 Alan ! if you had only sent 
for Ken last night.” 

Alan winced and turned away, but for once he 
spoke no word of self-justification. 

Take off your Avet dress, Nettie,” said Phoebe, 
or you ’ll be sick too.” 

Yes, with inflammation of the lungs,” said Mrs. 


A gbi;at catastbophe. 353 

Baird. I am afraid you and the baby will both 
have it. 0 Nettie ! why did n’t you think of tak- 
ing care of yourself ? ” 

Oh ! how can I think of anything but my baby ? 
He always had a smile for me, and now he does n’t 
know me.” 

He does n’t know any of us,” said Phoebe. 

The three heart-broken women wept together. 
Their sobs could not now disturb little Alan. 

Don’t cry, Nettie,” said Alan. ‘^When Dr. 
Craig gets here he ’ll know just the right thing to 
do. Ken ’s had a great deal more experience than 
I have had.” 

“And Dr. Smith ’s very good in accident cases,” 
said Mr. Baird. “He cured you after that terrible 
time when you were thrown from jouv horse. You 
seemed as near death as this child does. I wish 
we ’d got you to send for him last night. He might 
have persuaded you not to start with the baby this 
morning.” 

“ Oh ! that was a dreadful ride for the baby,” 
wailed Nettie ; “ I wish we had n’t gone one step.” 

“ So do I,”’ said Alan. “It was a great mistake.” 
Such an admission showed how deep his trouble 


was. 


354 CHILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


CHAPTER XXVL 
Alan’s hard-won victory. 

Tip was the first to return, not having so far to 
ride as Thad. Mr. Baird hurried out to receive his 
message, and came back, looking much discouraged. 

‘‘There ’s no hope of getting Dr. Smith, he ’s 
fast in his cliair with rheumatism ; this storm ’s 
brought on a bad attack. Anybody that wants his 
advice will have to go to him.” 

“That ’s just what we can’t do,” said Alan. 
“But it ’s not so bad as if Ken failed us; I trust 
more in him. Here ’s Thad now. He ’s made a 
quick trip. I ’ll see what he has to say.” 

Thad was breathless from fast riding, and yet 
he had brought no good news. Alan’s heart sank 
as he listened. Dr. Craig had already left home, 
early as it was, when Thad reached his house, hav- 
ing been summoned to assist Dr. Pratt in an impor- 
tant operation. He had to ride far, and there was 
no certainty as to when he would return. He in- 
tended to make a round of calls among his own 
patients on his wa}^ back. 


ALAN^S UARD-WON VICTORY. 355 

Madam Pratt an’ Mrs. Ken wuz both pow’ful 
sorry to lieah how bad Little Massa wuz after alius 
bein’ so purty an’ peart; an’ dey ’ll send de doctor 
quick as he gits home, sutenly. But mebbe ’t won’t 
be till on todes to-morrer mo’iiin’.” 

How Alan regretted that he had not devoted him- 
self more to his profession, as he watched beside 
his suffering child that day. He might have known 
as much as Kenneth, if he had taken advantage of 
all his opportunities, instead of wasting his time 
in idle pleasure. Now how ignorant he knew him- 
self to be, just when wisdom was most needed. 
His son’s life was in peril, and he did not know 
how to save him. He longed for Kenneth. It was 
a bitter thought that much of this trouble might 
have been prevented if he had not been too proud 
and self-willed to send for him the previous night. 

The child grew worse ; he saw symptoms which 
filled him with dread. He did what he could, but 
remedies seemed useless. Night came ; Nettie went 
to bed, worn-out, and suffering with a bad cold, 
but the others watched through the long hours. 
When day broke Phoebe persuaded her mother to 
come out to the porch for some fresh air ; for the 
fire had been kept up for the baby’s sake, and the 
room was stifling hot. 


356 CHILIIOWEE BOYS IN HABNESS. 


Mr. Baird went to look after Tip ; the stock on 
both places was under his care in this emergency, 
for Thad was useful in the house. 

Alan and Thad sat watching the baby. 

Oh, how I wish Ken would come ! ” said Alan. 

He ’ll be heah, Marse Alan, suten sho, de fus’ 
minute he kin come ; we-all knows dat, ’ca’se we- 
all knows Doc Ken. Dey wuz afeard up to his 
house dat he ’d be kep’ away all night, an’ it mus’ 
be dat what ’s hendered; but we kin be lookin’ fer 
him now.” 

Alan Avas as sure as Thad that Kenneth would 
come as soon as possible ; he had already won a 
great name for promptness and reliability. Alan 
felt ashamed when he remembered how often he 
himself had let his own pleasure or comfort come 
before the welfare of his patients. He knew now 
Avhat distress and anxiety Avaiting for the doctor 
could cause. He was beginning at last to under- 
stand something of a physician’s responsibility. 

Thad, looking at him as he sat with his eyes 
fixed on the baby, thought, Marse Alan ’s goin’ 
through de flint mills noAv, fo’ sho.” 

^^It seems as if little Alan Avould never get over 
the chill he took in the rain,” said his father. 

Thad, he ’s in a fearful state ! ” 


ALAN ^8 HAliB-WON VICTORY. 357 

^^Yes, Marse Alan, I kin see dat. If you could 
git liim good, an’ warm ag’in, mebbe be ’d come 
roun’.” 

“ But what ’s to warm him ? Oh ! why did I 
start on that journey with him after he got that 
fearful hurt? See, Thad, his limbs are twisting. 
Oh, this is too dreadful ! ” 

“ What you ’fraid of, Marse Alan ? Lopjoy ? ” 
It seemed a fearful word to Thad — he did not dare 
do more than whisper it. 

Alan nodded gloomily ; at any other time he 
would have laughed at Thad’s mistaken pronuncia- 
tion, but to see his child showing symptoms of lock- 
jaw drove all merriment from him. 

^^Pore Little Massa ! My! jes’ to think o’ de 
mischief dat ’s come to him I An’ you don’t know 
nothin’ mo’ to do fer him ? ” 

Alan shook his head. I am afraid his spine 
is injured, and that wetting- ’s made matters ten 
times worse.” 

If he wuz ter git inter a pow’ful big sweat, it 
mought be some help.” 

“ Yes, that ’s what he needs. He was so warm 
before the rain. Then that sudden drenching 
checked the perspiration. I ’ve done everything, 
and I can’t bring it back. 0 Thad I ” 


858 


CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HABNESS. 


Alan’s pitiful appeal struck Thad to the heart, and 
set him to thinking his hardest. He looked at the 
baby, then at the anxious, baffled father. 

Marse Alan,” said he, ‘‘ dere is sumpin’ dat 
ain’t been tried yit.” 

What is it, Thad?” Alan was so desperate 
and hopeless as to be glad to follow even a slave’s 
advice. 

It ’s de way de Injuns cures demselves when dey 
gits a bad cold. Pukpuggee an’ Ahila both tole me 
de story. Dey inakes a little tent out o’ skins jes’ big 
’nough ter creep inter, an’ de sick man gits in, an’ 
dey lay hot stuns all roun’ him, an’ somebody ’s in 
dar wid a pail o’ water. An’ deir frien’s outside pin 
de tent down snug to de groun’ so ’s de air can’t git 
in noways ; an’ den de Avell man inside pours de water 
on dem stuns till de tent gits steamin’ an’ pipin’ hot ; 
an’ de sick man gits inter sich a drippin’ sweat dat 
his cold ’s fai’ly druv away, an’ he comes creepin’ 
outer dat tent cured up. I been wonderin’ if we 
could fetch Little Massa to by dat kind o’ doctorin’.” 

‘‘ It ’s worth thinking about.” Alan did not take 
long to consider, but presently said, You may light 
my spirit lamp for me, Thad. Now bring that splint- 
bottomed chair over here close to the cradle, and set 
the lamp under it.” 


ALAN^S HARD-WON VICTORY. 


359 


Alan seated himself in the chair. Thad placed the 
baby in his arms, just as he was, lying on his little 
feather bed, wrapped in his cradle blankets. Then 
Thad pinned blankets around Alan and the chair, till 
only his head was visible. The blankets reached the 
floor, and lay in folds there. 

It could n’t be snugger, Marse Alan.” 

And then the lamp began to do its duty. The 
heat came up, Avave after wave, hotter and hotter. 
Alan had never borne pain for the sake of anyone ; he 
had heretofore lived for himself alone ; but now he 
was suffering for the little being that he loved best 
in the Avorld, yes, suffering intensely. Every mo- 
ment the heat seemed greater and less bearable. 
Perspiration poured off his face, he Avas dripping 
from head to foot. 

Thad watched in silence, thinking, Marse Alan 
am in de fiery furnace iioaa', fer sho.” 

The two watchers on the porch Avere frightened 
by the quiet of the room. 

‘‘ O Phoebe ! ” said Mrs. Baird, that door ’s been 
shut so long that I ’m afraid to go in.” 

The AvindoAv Avas shut also ; but Phoebe went to 
look, then beckoned to her mother. They saw Alan 
wrapped in blankets, his face fiery red, almost as 
if it might blaze. They understood at a glance. 


360 CIIILIIOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

Alan is doing all he can, Phoebe.’’ 

Yes, it ’s wonderful ! ” Phoebe’s long-lost faith 
in her brother was beginning to return. 

Alan endured his fiery furnace as long as he pos- 
sibly could. He saw that the baby breathed more 
easily, he touched his hands, and found they were 
moist. 

He motioned to Thad to unloose his fetters, and 
when he saw the baby’s face, beads of moisture stood 
on his forehead. Oh, joy ! The remedy had been 
successful ! And again little Alan was laid in his 
cradle. 

An hour after that Kenneth came. “He is in a 
natural sleep,” said he, looking at the baby. “ You 
may begin to hope.” 

Alan told him of Thad’s successful remedy. 

“ That was the best of devices. The baby had 
all the benefits of a vapor bath, thanks to Thad’s 
suggestion. The most experienced physicians could 
learn from him.” 

“ Yes, Thad ’s a treasure ! ” At last Alan was • 
ready to do his faithful servant justice. 

Alan had thought of Kenneth as a rival since they 
had both begun to practise medicine in Chilhowee, 
though he knew that his jealousy had no foundation. 
Now he saw how true was Kenneth’s friendship and 


LITTLE IIASSA.'' 


377 


Little Alan’s days spent in Thad’s care were as 
happy as a child’s could be. They sauntered about 
during all the pleasant weather in the fields and 
lanes and among the trees. Dandy was the most 
amiable of horses, willing to wait or jog on at their 
pleasure. And Thad taught his little charge all 
kinds of forest lore, having a never-ending store of 
bird and bee and bear stories. 

But the happiest hour of the day came at sunset. 
When the child saw the .long slanting rays, he would 
say, Pa ’s coming home ! Make Dandy tote me 
quick, Thad ! ” And they would ride to meet Dr. 
Alan. 

There was no sound more charming to Alan’s ear 
than his little son’s gleeful shout when he saw him 
in the distance ; the child’s eyes and ears were quicker 
even than Thad’s. 

Then when the riders met, little Alan’s first de- 
mand was, “ Pa ! O pa ! take me ! ” 

“ Little Massa don’t like nothin’ so well as ridin’ 
wid you, Marse Alan.” 

Alan, going home, holding his boy in his arms, 
listening to his bright and loving words, wondered 
that such joy was permitted him. 

Now even Phoebe was proud and satisfied regard- 
ing her brother. It was a constant surprise and de- 


378 CEIL HO WEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 


light to see him thoughtful of his mother, doing 
all he could for her comfort. 

I wish you could see Alan’s devotion to ma,” 
she wrote to her Aunt E-achel ; “ he really seems to 
be trying to make up for the long years that he 
made her unhappy; and she is so happy now, that 
I almost think she has forgotten those days.” 

But it was Chilhowee Parsonage which was still 
the model for happiness, and bright, cheerful activity. 
The parson and his wife rejoiced that Alec and Bess 
yet delighted in their home. It is as much as we 
could hope or expect to have two children left under 
our roof. And it won’t last always, mother. Our 
Bess is growing up into as bright a flower as ever 
bloomed ; some one will be sure to search her out, 
even though she is hidden in this wilderness.” 

^^Well, Donald, when the day comes, you and I 
must both be willing to spare her ; but we need n’t 
be borrowing trouble in looking forward to the time 
when we must say good-by to the dear child. Her 
fate is in wiser keeping than ours.” 

And Mrs. Craig went on in her useful, self-for- 
getting life, diffusing comfort and happiness to all 
around her. And the parson still ministered to his 
people in Chilhowee Church, and took long rides in 
search of his scattered flock, carrying his glad tidings 


“ LITTLE MASSA.'^ 


379 


to the lonely, isolated homes, where he was welcome 
as the sunshine. 

Bess tended her flower-garden, and shared Alecks 
pleasure and interest in the study of their numerous 
bird visitants. 

Birds and bees and flowers would make a home 
beautiful anywhere,’’ said Alec ; and just here on 
this Chilhowee farm there seems to be something 
new and interesting all the time.” 

It is indeed a highly favored spot,” said his 
father ; and you are a highly favored young farmer, 
my son, to know how to live with wide-open eyes and 
mind alert. I am thankful you are not like the 
people who go through the world ^ seeing no more 
than the eye of a potato sees, and hearing no more 
than an ear of corn hears.’” 

Alec kept up a correspondence with John on gen- 
eral topics, but especially agriculture and ornithol- 
ogy. 

John was still at Grandfather Craig’s, where he 
was of first importance, which pleased him well. 
His grandparents rejoiced to have such a staff for 
their old age as this capable, self-reliant, and affec- 
tionate grandson. 

To Parson Craig it was the next thing to having 
John under his own roof, to think of him in his own 


380 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

early home. It seemed as if no adjustment of his 
life could have been more satisfactory. 

The parson had the same feeling regarding Ken- 
neth, whose home was only an hour’s ride distant. 
Their frequent meetings were a source of great de- 
light, and the parson always took great joy in his 
son’s little family. Kenneth’s practice was large, 
but his deep interest in his profession kept him from 
feeling the burden. 

It was really the two clerical sons who seemed 

t 

farthest away from their home, but the parson’s 
ready pen bridged the gap. His experience in the 
ministry, and the deep sympathy he felt with them 
in their work, made his letters very valuable. And 
soon the young clergymen gladdened the parsonage 
by each coming home on a visit. 

Hugh was as devoted as ever to his mission, which 
had prospered so that there was much work to be 
done; but now he had Ahila for his helper, which 
pleased them both. Ahila was so efficient that Hugh 
was able to ride home for a short holiday. How 
bright his mother made his little visit ! What joy 
it gave him to sit at ease beside her as she knit or 
spun, and talk his heart out to her and to his father, 
his truest sympathizers! Hugh was looking better 
and brighter than ever before. 


LITTLE MASSA.''^ 


381 


Alec and Bessie took him to see Snip in the clover- 
patch. 

Snip has retired on his laurels,” Bessie said. 

^^Yes,” said Hugh; ‘^when I remember what he 
carried me through, I reckon him truly a war-horse, 
though he did n’t fight under General Jackson like 
Chucky Jack.” 

And you ’re treating him accordingly,” said Alec. 
For Hugh fed his old pony on apples and hoe-cake 
^and maple sugar, and petted him as he had in the 
days when he had carried him so faithfully ; and 
Snip was evidently happy as he felt the touch of 
his master’s hand. 

I can never care for another pony as I did for 
Snip,” Hugh said. 

I should think not,” said Alec. I can under- 
stand how that is since I ’ve had Liberty. Father 
says that ’s the way we always feel about our first 
horse. • We think there never was such a prize.” 

“ You don’t like your new dog as you did Bing, do 
you, Hugh ? ” said Bessie. 

Oh, no ! how could I ? But Mum ’s a fine fellow, 
a perfect watch-dog. The Indian chief that gave 
him to me had trained him thoroughly.” 

Mum ’s too quiet for me,” said Alec. Now look 
at him ! ” The great black dog had his eyes fixed on 


382 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

his master. “ You would n’t know there was any 
life in him, if you did n’t see his eyes. I like a dog 
that wags his tail, and shows when he ’s pleased.” 

This dog has learned Indian ways too thoroughly 
to show his feelings,” said Hugh. I can never make 
a pet of him, as I did of Ring and Sport ; but he ’s 
devoted to me in his way, and is really a great safe- 
guard. I don’t fear any beast in the forest when 
Mum ’s beside me. And he ’d be more than a match 
for almost any man in a fight, I imagine.” 

“ I suppose I ’d like such a protector if I was in 
danger,” said Bess ; but Mum almost frightens me. 
I can see he ’s a savage by the look in his eyes. I 
call him a real Indian j he ’s stealthy as one.” 

He ’s certainly the kind of dog to please an 
Indian,” said Alec. 

You should see him with Ahila,” said Hugh. 

Then you’d realize what a knowing, obedient crea- 
ture a dog can be. They understand each other per- 
fectly.” 

Hugh’s visit was not long enough to satisfy any 
one. ^‘You were our home boy for so many years, 
that it ’s been hard to do without you,” said his 
mother; ^‘and it ’s hard to see you go now.” 

“ 0 mother ! if it was n’t that my work calls me, 
and my heart is in it, I should be contented to stay 


LITTLE MAS8A.^' 


383 


here always, for home ’s the pleasantest spot in the 
world.’’ 

Soon after Hugh left them Don came. His visit 
was as short as Hugh’s ; but it was the brightest 
that could be imagined, for this was the day of 
Don’s greatest joy, when he brought his beautiful 
young bride home. Don presented Agnes to his 
parents with the certainty that they would love her. 
How charming she was, how lovable to this new 
circle of relatives ; she captivated them all. 

Don, who had never been proud, was evidently so 
now, at which no one who saw Agnes could wonder. 
It delighted his parents to see his gladness and joy. 

The visit was over all too soon. Ever since the 
day Don had told his father his story of Agnes, he 
had held her dear for his son’s sake ; now he loved 
her for her own. 

Agnes, my dear child,” he said at parting, ^^how 
glad I should be to have you and Don always near 
me, that I might be filled with your delightful 
company ; but even when we are far separated, it 
will be joy to me to know that your destiny for life 
is now bound in with the child of my warmest 
affections.” 

Such words thrilled Agnes. It was much to her 
to have won^ such a place in the heart of her new 


384 CHILHOWEE BOYS IN HARNESS. 

father, for from her childhood she had been father- 
less. 

Don, who also heard, was deeply touched. ^<0 
father ! is that the way you think of me ? 

My son, my dearest son, how could it be other- 
wise ? ” 

And now I have Agnes, too ! Oh, how wonder- 
ful ! ’’ 

It was a happy parting, for it was full of love and 
hope. Then Don went back to his arduous but con- 
genial work in PowelPs Valley, where the presence 
of Agnes lightened all his tasks, and made life 
brighter to him than it ever was before. 

The parson often reflected on the happiness and 
prosperity of his ‘‘ boys.’’ Next to his own sons he 
was deeply interested in the welfare of Leigh and 
Ned and Alan. The characters and conduct of the 
two former had always satisfied him, and now the 
change in Alan made him watch his career with 
pleasure. 

But the thrill of truest joy came when he thought 
of Don and Agnes. Yes, Don was certainly the fa- 
vored and favorite ‘‘ Chilhowee Boy.” 





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